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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24692161">Draconicmaw's Scrap Yard</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draconicmaw/pseuds/Draconicmaw'>Draconicmaw</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime &amp; Manga)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Lovecraft Fusion, Amaurophilia, Amazonian Tribal Lore, Arranged marriage to a god, BDSM, Choose Your Own Adventure, Choose Your Own Character, Choose Your Own Ending, College AU, Crack Treated Seriously, Dark Fantasy, Doctor AU, Doctor/Patient, Dolphin to human transformation, Dragon AU, Dragonrider AU, F/M, Fantasy AU, Fem!Seto Kaiba, Fem!Thief King Bakura, Fem!Yami Bakura - Freeform, Femdom, Fluff, Former student pines after former teacher, Gen, Genderbending, I want to write Kaiba absolutely worshipping Yugi and there's nothing you can do to STOP ME, Interspecies Relationship(s), Kisara in dragon form, Land of the Lost Fusion, Lovecraftian, M/M, Married Man trope, Modern AU, Office romance trope, Older Man/Younger Man, Phone sex hotline operator trope, Popstar/Rockstar trope, Praise Kink, Reader-Insert, Roleplay, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sci-Fi AU, Sickfic, Stripper trope, Very seriously, age gap, another fantasy au, betrothal, fem!Yugi, post-dsod, sexswapping, sexy pen pals, virgin-sacrifice/sacrificial lamb trope</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:34:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>46,760</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24692161</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draconicmaw/pseuds/Draconicmaw</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>So, I've been in a slump lately, so I've been skimming through my docs on the hunt for inspiration and finding a lot of unfinished stuff, and a friend recommended that I make a fic where I just kinda... dump stuff so that people can maybe get a taste for some ideas (and maybe even find inspiration for their own writing).</p><p>That being said, there's all sorts of stuff in here, from genderbending to reader inserts and more. Marked unrated because each 'chapter' will be marked with what I would consider it's rating to be. Tags will be added as I dump stuff in here.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Atem (Yu-Gi-Oh)/Reader, Atem/Jounouchi Katsuya | Joey Wheeler, Atem/Kaiba Seto, Atem/Mahaado | Mahad, Atem/Mutou Yuugi, Atem/Otogi Ryuuji | Duke Devlin, Honda Hiroto | Tristan Taylor/Kaiba Seto, Jounouchi Katsuya | Joey Wheeler/Yami Yuugi, Kaiba Mokuba/Atem, Kaiba Mokuba/Yami Yuugi, Kaiba Mokuba/Yami Yuugi | Atem, Kaiba Seto/Mutou Yuugi, Kaiba Seto/Yami Yuugi, Kaiba Seto/Yami Yuugi | Atem, Mana/Zigfried von Schroeder, Mutou Yuugi/Yami Yuugi, Mutou Yuugi/Yami Yuugi | Atem, Otogi Ryuuji | Duke Devlin/Yami Yuugi, Thief King Bakura/Kaiba Seto, Yami Bakura/Kaiba Seto, Yami Yuugi/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>98</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>69</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Dragonrider AU (no ship)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Rated T</p><p>I'd been really hankering to write a dragonrider AU, but more like Anne McCaffrey-esque with sci-fi elements added to the fantasy. I got some of it jotted down before I got distracted by other ideas. Anyway, here's the summary I had drawn up and another note: </p><p>Yugi (a mute) and Atem -- brothers, and ranger partners -- are hiding something. Meanwhile, dragons are going missing, their riders killed, and a storm like no other is brewing over Domino. Where have the dragons gone, and can Yugi and Atem save the city, even the world itself?<br/>Note: “Consors” is the latin word for “partner, kindred, or familial” and its plural is “consortes.” That way you know what the hell I’m rambling about. Silly Romans with their grammar rules that don’t make sense...</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The beast thrashed, thumped its great neck on the walls of the stall, and bellowed. It craned its head high, arching swan-like, before roaring thunderously once again. The man holding the lead attached to its bridle was nearly jerked off his feet. All around, growls and honks and roars and trumpeting jumbled into a cacophonous din.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was heard all across the city.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go!” the ranger commanded. Not even a thump on the side got his consors airbourne. The beast shivered endlessly beneath him. Through their link, all he could sense was pure excitement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goga!” the woman laughed. The small dragon, the size of a domesticated cat, pelted back and forth through the house. Its tiny talons clicked on the hardwood, its wings ruffled, tail arched. “Do you have the zoomies?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A great red serpent fluttered its wings restlessly. It was coiled about an entire mountain peak, huge red bands standing out in the evening light against the cold gray of the stone. Triple jaws parted, a hot breath -- great enough to make pebbles vibrate -- and pupil-less eyes stared into the horizon, toward the sprawling human settlement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two newborns wailed. The mother, languid and sweating and smiling, held one in her arms, her husband the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re nearly identical.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Mr. and Mrs. Muto scrambled through the streets. “Yugi!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yugi!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A young boy clung to Mrs. Muto’s hand. His magenta eyes blinked slowly, calm, unaffected. “He’s fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Muto ignored him. Atem’s at-ease attitude was no surprise, and no help either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A passerby paused as they wailed their son’s name once again. “You looking for the other twin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!” Mr. Muto gasped. “Where is he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Check the stables,” the man replied with a shrug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yugi!” the couple exclaimed upon seeing the smaller of their twins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy sat cross legged on the floor in front of a stall. A huge, pearlescent white neck craned out of the metal slats. Blue, slitted eyes flashed with a nictitating membrane.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The couple stood frozen in fear. A White dragon’s wrath was the most fearsome of them all. They were infamous for maiming or slaying those who they deemed unworthy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The beast inhaled, great silvery chest expanding. Then, it snorted, and Yugi’s wild hair ruffled in the small gust. The boy laughed. The dragon’s tusked lower jaw vibrated excitedly, and, with the gentlest of nudges, it bowled the boy over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr. and Mrs. Muto gaped in amazement. Atem giggled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The massive head snapped over. A slow blink, and it retreated cautiously back into its spacious stall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yugi pouted. “Critias! I wasn’t done playing!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A barely audible hoot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, Yugi,” Mr. Muto said quietly, and he picked up his small child. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For each stall they passed was a dragon widely eyeing the small human.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Atem laid in bed, his arms crossed behind his head. “I can’t sleep,” he whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yugi laid his head on his forearms, and his eyes gleamed in the green glow of their nightlight. He blinked slowly. “Why not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem quickly rolled over. “We’re seeing the eggs tomorrow. They say that some riders can tell if they have the Affinity the day they see the egg of their consors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yugi lifted a shoulder. Something about the way he blinked and stared unsettled Atem, always had. He felt like he was talking to some wise old man, not his ten-year-old twin brother. “Don’t worry about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem’s brows furrowed. “I really want to have it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, when Yugi blinked, his eyes stayed closed. “You do. We both do. Everyone does. Don’t worry about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem squinted. “Everyone?” That was not what they learned in school.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yugi hummed. He was already drifting off to sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem stared at Yugi’s blank face, half-buried in the sleeves of his flannel pajama shirt. And he wondered how and what Yugi knew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All the other children of their class jammed through the entrance of the incubatory like highly pressurized water through a bottleneck. Yugi hung back, his small hand wrapped around Atem’s flexing wrist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yugi! What are you doing?” Atem hissed, tugged on the other boy’s seemingly iron grip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Calm down. The eggs aren’t going anywhere,” Yugi murmured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, the others--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yugi shook his head. “They are either your consors or they aren’t. Being there first isn’t going to change that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem huffed, face hot with indignation and frustration. “That’s not what the teachers say!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yugi lifted a shoulder. “Well, they’re wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem snorted, but, as always, that sure demeanor soothed Atem’s doubts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I already know which ones are our consortes anyway,” Yugi whispered, hand shielding his mouth, smiling mischievously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem gaped at him, but Yugi just tugged him into the incubatory. The eggs were displayed in temperature-controlled glass cases, separated from their parents for just this moment. The eggs varied in size and coloration, from as small and bright as pearls to as large as an adult human’s head and black as obsidian. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yugi tugged them to the biggest one. Several dozen kids crowded the glass, their hot, excited breaths fogging the transparent material. The egg was easily the size of a ten-year-old just like them. Its green hue shimmered deep blue. Yugi pressed in, gentle, and the crowd seemed to part for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pressed Atem’s hand to the glass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The case hummed, and the egg rocked. Warmth flooded Atem’s mind, familiarity and comfort, and it spread to the tips of his fingers and the ends of his toes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our consortes are in here,” Yugi whispered. His own pale hand splayed on the glass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s only one egg, Yugi,” Atem whispered back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yugi looked over at him, smiled wide, violet eyes gleaming. “Yeah. They’re twins, Atem. Just like us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem looked back at the exceptionally large egg. “Twins…?” There were two dragons in that egg? “How do you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yugi’s smile never faltered. “I can feel it. There’s a boy and a girl, though. So I guess they aren’t just like us.” He petted the glass a moment. “The girl is mine. They’re really happy to meet us,” he chirped. Suddenly, he grew solemn. “You should try to think of a name for him. He seems very serious, so don’t do anything silly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem scoffed. “Like I would name my dragon something silly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it was safe to say that Atem didn’t fully believe Yugi, not until one of the incubatory attendants that was trailing about describing the breed and heritage of the eggs came to stand in front of the glass case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is the egg of a Magi, one of the most versatile breeds in existence,” the attendant explained. “This egg is special for two reasons; it’s exceptionally large for a Magi egg, and… it has two embryos developing inside of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem gasped, whipped toward Yugi.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yugi wasn’t listening. He was staring at that giant green gem, petting the glass, and cooing softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem could swear that he felt the egg thrum in response.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Squeaks and chirps filled the nursery. After the chicks reached a couple of months old, the nursery became open to the public for any and all who hope to find out they </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> have the Affinity after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There have been tales of humans who didn’t find their consortes until the day of their death (either the human or the dragon). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem had always feared that. He’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>dreamed </span>
  </em>
  <span>of flying, would stare out the apartment windows to see the rangers streaking across the sky on their dragons that flashed like prisms in the sun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yugi may have guessed that the Magi egg had two dragons in it, but Atem was still leary of his prediction that their consortes lurked beneath the iridescent shell. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How </span>
  </em>
  <span>could Yugi know?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even at his young age, Atem was still perceptive of the fact that Yugi was not quite like other children their age, and even less like Atem himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched as Yugi waded through the crowd. Everywhere he passed, the chirping of dragonlings intensified. Tiny clawed paws groped at the edges of waist-high fences, wings fluttered restlessly, small, bug-eyed heads peered on craned, stretched necks. In school, they had seen videos of dragons meeting their consortes. The chattering energy, spastic hoots and growls, the vibrating jaws and rustling wings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And every dragon acted like that around Yugi.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem shook his head, arms crossed. He and their parents trailed behind Yugi as he meandered through the crowd to a specific pen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The minute he reached the small fence, his round face peered over its edge, a blue and orange blur leapt upon him. A squealing chirp, and Yugi pealed out his laughter, the tiny soft-scaled beast rolling happily in his arms, the wings fluttering jovially. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem rushed up. A plaintive chirp caught his attention. He looked over the edge of the fence. Another hatchling, much, much larger, stood on its haunches, its front limbs reaching up toward Yugi. Purple scales gleamed in the warm light of the overhead heat lamps, and jewel-like green eyes blinked up sadly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem frowned, though warmth thrummed in his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hatchling cooed, and the end of the note tipped up like a question. The ornate tail flicked, and it glanced over to Atem. When those green eyes met his magenta ones, Atem’s breath caught in his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That confusion flickering became </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Atem could feel it fluttering in his head, and then sudden realization.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A soft hoot, and the dragon, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Atem’s consors,</span>
  </em>
  <span> padded closer. The attendant was too busy trying to dislodge the hatchling clinging to Yugi’s jacket to pay attention to Atem, who stood on his tip-toes to drop a hand over the edge of the fence. A smooth, scaly head butted into his palm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem, with a smile so wide it nearly split his face in two, traced a hand along the horns, twisted with ridges like decorative turrets. Aural fins flared and furled with the dragon's quiet squeak, the slitted green eyes dilating and contracting wildly. The strong lower jaw vibrated excitedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A greeting, subdued but still so happy, rippled through Atem like a gentle finger disturbing a tranquil pool of water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hello to you, too," Atem said back, quiet, smile gentling into something small and private.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A soft coo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mahad. Do you like that name?" Atem whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A musical chirp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I do, too."</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Atem listened intently to the lecture. Yugi, on the other hand, doodled in his notebook, the sketchy lines flowing into a sleek, energetic young dragoness -- Mana, Yugi had decided to name her, three years ago in that nursery. The day that they learned they were going to the Ranger Academy, a dream come true for the twins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Many key figures in our history have been said to have the Universal Affinity,” the instructor said, her fingers dancing across the board, flipping through photos on the giant touchscreen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem’s breath caught in his throat, and he heard Yugi’s pencil still. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, there’s never been any empirical evidence that the Universal Affinity </span>
  <em>
    <span>exists</span>
  </em>
  <span>, only anecdotal accounts of its influence.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yugi continued sketching, though a little more hurried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem swallowed, raised his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Atem?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His stoic face showed none of his nerves. “What would happen if we found out the Universal Affinity existed? That people amongst us have it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pencil stilled again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The instructor sighed, as if she heard the question a thousand times before, but still gave it a considerable amount of deliberation. “Well, Atem, any person with the Universal Affinity would be considered incredibly dangerous. On Arcadia, we’ve built our entire society around the bonds between rider and dragon. The fact that a single person could override that is undeniably frightening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hurried sketching.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem nodded, and the instructor continued on with her lecture.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yugi becomes a mute because of brain damage from a training accident. Seto is also a ranger -- his consors being Kisara, a white dragon (of course). Seto and Atem have a rivalry, of course. Yugi just kind of hangs out with his numerous dragon friends because they're easier than people. There were no planned ships for this story.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Change (Sealshipping, Fem!Atem)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rated E -- proposed rating if I were to ever post this story. (though there is no explicit content in this 'chapter')</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>At the time of writing this, I had been <em>craving</em> some steamy Sealshipping, and also craving to genderbend, and I tried to scratch my itch with this. A modern Sealshipping with Fem!Atem. I was planning on it being a sort of sexual-awakening fic with a friends-to-lovers transition.</p><p>In other words, where Atem is getting tired of hinting to Mahad that she wants him and kinda makes it more explicitly known. I do have stashed away a massive smut scene that I had crafted for this story, so, if you're interested in reading it, just drop a comment or whatnot and I'll post that in here, too. </p><p>Canonically, Mahad is six years older than Atem (Mahad being 22 and Atem being 16) but I shortened that age gap to about 2 or 3 years to make this a little smoother.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Prologue</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Her lips were pulled taut, stoic, but they still wobbled the slightest amount, and her big vivid eyes sparkled with unshed tears. Her little hands cradled her knee, and she stared up at him from where she was sitting in a rumpled heap on the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mahad…” she said quietly, and her voice wavered -- thick with tears -- but she maintained her composure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He quickly knelt at her side. “Are you all right?” he asked, concerned but still held in awe by the little girl’s rather placid manner despite the rather rough tumble she had just endured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took a deep breath through her nose, and her lips pulled down into the smallest frown. “... Yes. I’m fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reached out -- even at that age his hands were so much bigger than hers -- and his fingertips brushed the back of her hand. “Let me see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She met his gaze, a stifled sniffle shook her shoulders, and then she nodded and pulled her hands back. Her bronzed knee was angry and red, some of the skin was rubbed off or peeled back, and some parts were starting to darken with seeping blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s bleeding,” he remarked quietly, and took the hem of his shirt to gently blot the wound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hand, small and hot and slippery with sweat, latched onto his wrist. “Mahad! It’ll stain your shirt!” she reprimanded, lips suddenly pursed fiercely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brow furrowed sternly. “It’ll be fine. Does it hurt?” And he continued gently blotting the blood away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She huffed, fingers loosening on his wrist. “... A little. It’s already feeling better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His other hand pushed his long hair away from his face to get a better look. “It doesn’t look too bad, but we should probably get you a band-aid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The corner of his shirt just barely darkened with blood -- it could easily be mistaken for dirt -- he stood from his crouch and extended his hand to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blinked up at him, with those violet eyes that seemed red in direct sunlight, and then her little hand, a few shades darker than his own, was clasping onto his. He lifted her up, and then she was on her feet and staring up at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Mahad,” she said quietly, and her fingers twined into his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, Atem,” he said back. “Let’s go get that band-aid.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Mahad took his seat next to her at the lunch table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Previously, they had attended a private academy together, but Atem had all but begged her parents to allow her to attend a public school, and with those genuine eyes of hers, they were easily convinced -- as long as she continued her private lessons and didn’t get into any trouble. Mahad was quick to follow; he’d been attending that academy because of the Sennen family, and they were paying his tuition. They had offered to let him stay in private schooling if he wanted, but he was adamant on staying at her side. (And Atem had asked him to come along, too, and he was sure that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her.) He was ahead of her by two grades, but Atem was sharp as a whip and was in several of his classes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, fortunately, they shared a lunch period together, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yugi Mutou, her cousin, was one of the main reasons she had begged to go to Domino Public Schools, and he was always a warm and welcomed addition to their duo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Yugi had his own host of friends, all whom were more than happy to include Atem and her quiet older friend (though Mahad knew it was probably because having an upperclassmen in their group somehow boosted their teenage social status).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yugi, Atem, and Joey chatted animatedly about a new card game they had introduced Atem to -- one that she had instantly fallen in love with, one that she had roped Mahad into learning so they could play together. Mahad occasionally added his input, but he otherwise ate silently. Tea and Tristan would cut in every once and a while, and sometimes would try to engage him in conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mahad didn’t mind sitting in silence. He enjoyed listening to Atem’s animated chatter and watching the way she would emphatically gesture with her fork in hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Atem,” he murmured, but something else was on his tongue, though those days of frolicking outside (where they’d pretend she was a princess and he was her loyal bodyguard, but she’d always insist on joining in on fighting the imaginary monsters they faced) were long gone in the rose-tinted haze of the past. But ‘Atem’ was just as good as ‘Princess’, he figured, and far less embarrassing for her. “You are getting marinara sauce on your lap.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Were she anybody else, she might’ve yelped and cursed, but instead she frowned fiercely and moved her fork back over her tray. Mahad held napkins between his index in middle finger and languidly offered them to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She accepted them with a soft, “Thank you, Mahad,” and wiped off her black skinny jeans as her other friends laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” he murmured, but he hid his small smile behind his carefully refolded hands.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>“It makes me sad,” Atem admitted, sitting cross-legged on his bed as he sat at his desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned in his chair, laptop left open. He frowned, leaned his elbow on the armrest. “It makes me sad, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her violet eyes, so intense and genuine, were focussed on him. Her long black lashes slowly lowered and lifted again in a long, thoughtful blink. “I should go to the same university. We could see each other more, after I graduate, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he said firmly, leaning forward and touching her chin when she immediately looked down. “You can’t go somewhere just because I am there,” he said, though he knew how hypocritical he was being. “This could affect your whole future. Go somewhere </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to go. Where you </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> to go.” She met his gaze, and he chuckled lightly. “Besides, where I am going to school is so below where your standards should be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She caught his hand in her own -- even smaller in comparison, now that he was a towering, broad young man and she was a petite young woman. “You’re just as smart as I am. You’re top of your class. We could go somewhere better </span>
  <em>
    <span>together.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed, and tried to withdraw his hand, but hers was stilled wrapped tight around it. “I need to go somewhere </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>can afford. Your parents have always treated me like their own son, but I can’t accept their help with this. It’s too much to ask.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could read her so easily; the red-hot frustration, the unshed tears, the burning determination. “We are always together. We have </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> done this together. I don’t think I can handle that,” she said, but her voice wavered, thick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled softly, and he cupped her cheek. “Princess,” he said quietly, and watched as her cheeks flushed and even more tears welled up until they tumbled over her lids and down her cheeks. “What we have can’t be tarnished by distance. I’ll always be your best friend,” he said. His thumb rubbed her smooth face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her lips quivered, and she lunged forward, her arms wrapping tight around his shoulders, and he embraced her in return. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mind reeled -- she was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>tiny</span>
  </em>
  <span> in his arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you promise?” she whispered, h</span>
  <span>er voice muffled by his shoulder but he still heard her clear as day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I swear.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>beginning of the next chapter</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d just shut the cab door when his phone rang. He didn’t need to look at the caller ID to know who it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mahad,” she said, voice clear and confident even over speakers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just got out of the taxi,” he replied. “I’m outside your dorm building.” He tilted his head back to look up at the ornate brick building. It was new, but the architects had used an old, classy art deco style on the embellishments. It looked like it had jumped right out of the ‘20s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mahad could only guess that that was what you got when you went to a top-tier university like Atem.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Although this was </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> university now, too -- he’d been accepted into the biochemistry PhD program here just that summer. Good thing his job was willing to pay for his graduate schooling, because he wouldn’t have been able to pay for it himself.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, okay. I’ll be right down.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. What We See In The Dark (Puzzleshipping)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rated E -- Proposed story rating if I ever finished it</p><p>Yugi, a simple mortal, never asked to be betrothed to the god of night and darkness, but it seems his fate is inescapable. A betrothal ceremony with no fiance, a wedding with no groom, and a walk to the shrine with no husband.<br/>But he isn't alone when the sun goes down.<br/>He was warned long ago -- if his divine husband does not deem him a fit match, he will not survive the night.<br/>Will he live to see the dawn?<br/>Or will he perish at the hands of a mad god?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Those of you familiar with my work, you know that I generally do not write Puzzleshipping. Well, I came up with this idea and Puzzleshipping just fit it the best. And, apparently, the entire moth of June is dedicated to Puzzleshipping...? So I was going to write this for it, whether or not it fits any prompts, but it wasn't turning out the way I wanted it to and I didn't have the heart to try and rewrite this.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The shrill cries were long gone, all but a memory in the mind of a sleeping mother. A simple, hand-carved cradle squatted in the halo of moonlight slanting in from a window. The baby within was asleep, tiny chest moving faintly with each calm breath. He did not stir when a shadow fell over the window and shrouded him in darkness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Flared wings folded back, faded into shoulders, shadows melting together and becoming one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Long, sable fingers rested on the sill. Red eyes, glowing so brightly against consuming black, stared down at the slumbering babe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A slow blink, a claw-like finger of black reaching down to brush against a fair, unblemished cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The baby stirred, eyes fluttering open. Violet, like the penumbra of dusk or dawn, peered up at the imposing silhouette. The shadow paused, eyes unblinking and wary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the baby only cooed, giggled, tiny pale hand reaching up to wrap around a cold, shadowed finger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The red eyes blinked, the shadow hummed, and the night itself hummed with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That single curious touch turned to tender stroking on the downy hair of the baby's head. The baby gurgled happily with a toothless smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shadow leaned down. A sable lock of hair dangled, and tiny fingers eagerly wrapped around it. A pealing giggle, and the baby yanked, but red eyes only blinked down sanguinely. A black thumb brushed blond hair away from the baby's round forehead, and the shadow leaned down to press cold, dark lips between the baby's eyebrows. Those little hands cupped the obscured cheeks for those brief moments, and the baby cooed and gurgled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A creak echoed from deeper in the room, from the wooden-framed bed upon which two adults slept. The shadow jerked its head up, red eyes peering eerily at the shifting shape of a mother awakened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sat up, stared at the cradle where her son babbled at nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, Yugi, up again? It's okay, Mother's here…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Outside the window, a shadow lingered only long enough to watch the woman scoop up her small bundle. Her gasp was audible. Sable wings snapped open, and the shadow was gone, off into the dark night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the moonlight, a mother gently but frantically scrubbed at her infant son's forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the mark wouldn't come off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her son had been claimed by the Dark One.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The summer sun gleamed bright, and a sweet breeze ruffled through the trees. Yugi blinked, head tilting. The sunlight and shadow danced together on the dappled ground. Pretty. The sounds of the other village children playing -- laughing and running and squealing -- only vaguely registered in his ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They wouldn’t play with him, anyways. They never did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reached up, smoothed his fingertips between his eyebrows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t feel the mark, but he knew it was there. He didn’t understand why the other children were so afraid of something that could not be felt, nor heard, nor smelt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why are people so afraid of something that they can only see?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pursed his lips, wrapped his arms tighter around his folded legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was lonely, and he didn’t understand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t understand why he was so different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yugi!” one of the priests called, and he looked over his shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t remember when he started living with the priests at the temple. He didn’t remember living with his parents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Did he even have parents?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He carefully rose to his feet. He clambered up the grassy knoll to the walkway and to the marble steps of the temple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s time for your lessons, little one,” the priest said with a smile and a gentle hand on Yugi’s shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yugi beamed back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he loved the priests and priestesses. They were the only ones that would look him in the eye and sometimes even touch him. He liked it when they played games with him and held his hand on the weekly trips to the market. Sometimes, they would read to him at night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, Priest Shadi,” Yugi chirped, and his grin grew even wider when Shadi let him hold his hand as they walked to the library.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Yugi’s fate had never been kept a secret from him -- for as long as he could remember, the priests told him that he had been claimed by the Dark One -- the nameless deity of darkness and night who had marked him when he was but an infant. Though, arguably, for a long time he was too innocent and naive to understand just what that meant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Mad God, he who lived in shadow and anger and pain, he whose fury was unmatched even by the dark of a moonless night, had claimed Yugi. And Yugi, when he was younger and had less comprehension of his situation, had thought that he would become a priest like Shadi or Karim, that he would dedicate his life to the gods as they did. And the thought had pleased him -- his life would not change all that much, he supposed. Still he would study and attend to the shrines and the temple gardens, still he would get to sit in the warm sun in the courtyard and play games with the priests and priestesses who had raised him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gradually, his understanding shifted -- the Dark One had chosen him as a companion. Understandable, he thought, since the stories depicted the Dark One as some shadowed figure driven to insanity by his own loneliness, for he had long been shunned and ostracized by the other gods. Yugi related to the Dark One then -- he, too, was shunned and ostracized because of something over which he had no control. He was eager to meet this Dark One, to befriend the lonely, wretched deity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone deserved someone, Yugi firmly believed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it was in the spring of his thirteenth year that he truly understood his destiny and the true meaning of the mark he bore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was the daughter of a traveling merchant. She had the most beautiful blue eyes, like a clear summer sky or a bird’s egg. She was sweet and kind -- she cared not about Yugi’s mark, mostly because she followed a different faith than the locals, but he still appreciated it. She shared with him his first kiss, and he had rushed to the temple to tell the priests. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He expected smiling encouragement -- the priests were always excited to hear about any kind interactions Yugi might have had with the villagers -- but that was not what he received. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first it had seemed like rage, but after all had cooled, they told Yugi the truth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did not mean to react so strongly, but, Yugi, I am afraid you do not understand,” Priestess Isis, a young woman just recently graduated from mere temple acolyte, murmured, her hands on his shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sniffled, tried to suck the tears back in. “I-I </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> understand,” he whispered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Dark One is a jealous god, so you must be careful to whom and how much you show affection,” she replied. “A mere kiss from you could doom someone to an agonizing death, or, worse, a lifetime of madness.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he choked. Her sympathetic, sorrowed face blurred from his tears. He couldn’t hold them back. They streamed down his face in hot rivulets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s been searching for the perfect partner. His last that died drove him to darkness, so even before being wed to you, he covets your love.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yugi froze, his breath dying in his throat, until he managed to croak out, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Wed?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, he’s to be your husband, Yugi,” she said slowly, but when she was only met with a look of abject horror, her own expression shattered. “You… you didn’t know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My husband…” was all he managed to say in response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tore himself away from her, yanked his weight back even more viciously when her hand curled around his bicep. “Yugi-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head, sobbing, and stumbled away, through the marble halls and to the outside.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Far into the forest, there was a pond. Yugi would come to this pond often -- it was so quiet, so beautiful, it was where he found peace away from everything, from the priests who wanted so much from him and the villagers who eyed him with fear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kneeled by the pond now, the only place the priests wouldn’t think to look for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held his face, tried to muffle his sobs in his palms. His tears leaked through his fingers and dropped onto the glassy, placid surface of the pond. Little ripples grew and pushed to the pond’s outer edges, but Yugi paid them no mind. He cried, cried, cried until he had no more tears to cry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he sat at the edge of the pond until the light of afternoon darkened to that of evening, then to purple twilight. The shadows around him reached out and grew from the bases of the trees until they consumed all. If not for the silver light of the moon, all would have been pitch black. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yugi blinked, hiccupped, and watched the pond surface ripple slightly from a harsh breeze. He wrapped his arms tighter around himself and shivered. It was dark and cold now, far past the time he was normally allowed to wander outside of the temple. But he didn’t want to go back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He feared what would happen if he did -- what if he came back and heard that that girl was dead, all because of him?</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Any way, on the summer soltice of Yugi's 18th year, he ends up getting married though there is no husband, and walks to the shrine all by himself. The Dark One (Yami) challenges him to a game, and Yugi wins. The Dark One reveals his true face, the pale, silent friend that visited him at the pond that one night, and then they consummate the marriage. </p><p>Yugi wakes up at dawn, and watches as the sunlight washes onto his husband. His soulmate found, Yami becomes Atem, god of sunlight and truth. The end!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Under Your Skin (Reader Insert)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rated T -- proposed rating if I were to ever post it </p><p>Summary: You noticed him on your way to class. He was gorgeous. Your only wish was that he accept your offer and model for you -- just once. But he seems stoic and distant, self-consciousness hidden behind a wall of stone. <br/>… Can’t he see that he’s beautiful?<br/>Or a college AU where the Reader is a photographer and Atem has vitiligo.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, I had this plot bunny attack me out of nowhere. I tried to fit it into a ship but decided to just do a reader-insert instead. If you have any idea for a ship that would work better, don't be afraid to holler at me about it! (My only requirement be it that it has Atem in it)</p><p>Also, vitiligo is when melanin and other pigments in the skin are no longer produced properly in skin cells. This results in blotches of lighter skin tone, sometimes even in the mouth and of the hair, and, very rarely, in the eyes. There used to be a strong stigma against this, even though it’s not contagious and doesn’t really have any negative effects beside making the skin more sensitive to sunlight. I thought it would be a really neat way of fusing the Yami version of Atem and the Atem version of Atem into one person.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>You just barely made it to the campus bus on time. You’d slept through your alarm, and you realized that you hadn’t packed your needed supplies for the day. Unfortunately for you, the residence hall you were staying in was on the opposite end of campus as the art building where most of your classes were held.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which meant that you personally knew all of the bus drivers by name because of how often you had to ride the bus. Especially in this bitter cold weather -- your legs would fall off if you tried to walk there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, anyways, you just made it onto the bus before it would have left. The drivers were supposed to wait one minute before driving away, but they never did that, so you never counted on that non-existent extra minute. Your panting breaths puffed into your scarf and wafted back onto your glasses. The lenses were cold and easily fogged up and it was pretty fucking irritating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mornin’,” you huffed to Betty, the morning driver, and threw yourself into a seat. You plucked your glasses off your face and rubbed a gloved hand on your cheek. Your face was already numb, and you were outside for barely a minute. The bus was pretty full already, but you knew that the next stop was the apartment suites, and that was normally where the largest number of people boarded, and probably no one would get off. There were going to be a lot of standers. Your knee bounced anxiously, and you slid your glasses back on. You hated it when the bus got that full. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bus lurched into the circle drive of the apartment suites, and you grimaced at the crowd of people waiting on the curb. A whole fucking swarm of them. The bus puttered to a stop, and the doors opened with a hiss. A single person got off, only to be replaced with a dozen other people. You stared out the window. If you ignored them, it wouldn’t seem like so many people. But you still took a curious glance to see how many ended up losing this game of musical chairs and had to stand. Only a handful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then you froze when you saw him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was clad in a thick black warm-looking peacoat, a dark red, hand-knit scarf wrapped snugly about his neck. His hair was wild, sticking up in dark spikes that gleamed a faint red in the gray winter light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that wasn’t what made your breath catch in your lungs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His skin… it was... mottled. On his cheeks, flushed with the cold, there were splashes of a rich bronze and the palest porcelain white. Yes, the white pooled and splotched on his flesh like spilled paint. A patch of it crawled up onto his lips, which were mostly a dusky brown, but were bleached pink where the white touched it. He shifted, eyes affixed up, and you inhaled shakily. There was a splash of it that went over his eye, and some of his lashes were white as snow, and even a segment of his eyebrow was pure white. He had a chiseled, elegant, regal face, and the surreal splashes of white made him seem more like art than an actual human being. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then his eyes met yours. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The eye without the white draped over it was a warm, rich violet, a sea of purple. The other was blotted with red. You gulped. His condition affected his eye color, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He arched an eyebrow, the one that was a fourth white, and you reeled back in your seat and whipped your head to look out the window. Your cheeks, once numb, now felt like they were about to melt right off your face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus, what was wrong with you, staring at that guy!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You looked around furtively. You weren’t the only one scrutinizing the young man, but several seemed uncomfortable. In fact, nobody was standing near him. They had given him a wide berth. You frowned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he seemed mostly unaffected, or perhaps he had simply mastered ignoring people. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You studied him, a little more inconspicuous this time -- you made sure to look away frequently and for long periods of time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You noticed that, while he did have blond bangs, they were shot through with cords of white, and, when he turned his head as he dug through one of his pockets, that there was a little white patch in the dark hair towards the back of his head. He’d taken out his phone, and frowned when the touch screen didn’t react to his gloved fingers. One hand holding into the overhead bar, he tucked the phone between his shoulder and jaw and tugged the glove off with his teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands… They were slender, long-fingered, dainty but still somehow masculine and elegant. They were beautiful hands. It was not marred by the white that clustered around his nail beds and splattered across his defined knuckles. Beneath his nails, the color changes were evident, too, though fogged and muted by his neat nails. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was… beautiful. Your mind spun with conjured images of how that pattern would continue across his whole body. Wow. Your fingers twitched. Rich, warm bronze and pale porcelain splashing across planes of muscle and bone, across tendons and joints. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You gulped, hands clenching and unclenching. You wanted your camera. You could photograph such a subject for hours, you were sure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That pretty hand clenched around the edges of the phone, and your eyes drifted up mostly by chance. He was frowning deeply, eyes locked with yours. Those eyes were striking and sharp enough to cut right through you and pin you like a butterfly to a corkboard. Heat washed up your cheeks again, and you grimaced sheepishly and mouthed ‘sorry.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyebrow twitched, and you gulped. Yeah, you would be pissed, too. You lifted a hand up, circled it around your face and then opened it suddenly.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Beautiful</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you had signed in American Sign Language. You weren’t deaf or mute, but you’d picked some stuff up from your autistic nephew. You weren’t sure if this young man would understand, but when his eyes widened and red rushed to his cheeks, you were sure he did. He looked away suddenly, his jaw working. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a grin held back by a bitten lip, you looked back out the window. Just three more stops and you would be at the Art building. At the business building, a mass of students poured out of the bus, and it was thankfully much less crowded. The seat next to yours was empty, and you relaxed a little until a dark shape took up the space.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You looked down. Dark pants and dark gloves and a black peacoat. You froze, and somehow, </span>
  <em>
    <span>somehow</span>
  </em>
  <span>, your cheeks kept getting hotter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You cleared your throat a little, and, in your peripherals, you saw the young man’s head tilt toward you. “I really do want to apologize. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” you said lowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m used to people staring,” he replied, and you shivered in your seat. His voice was deep and dark despite his smaller stature and the sound of it alone brushed your nerves in the most sensuous, nearly ticklish manner. He wasn’t monotonous, but the firmness of his countenance most certainly bled into his voice. He sounded like that wasn’t quite the end, like it was only half a statement, but he didn’t finish it if it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that doesn’t excuse my rude behavior. Pretty or not, people shouldn’t be ogling you,” you muttered, fiddling with the straps of the backpack on your lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He only hummed, and then the bus lurched to a stop at the College of Sciences. He was up and walking away, and you watched with a puzzled frown as he walked away. Strange he had taken a seat when he was only one stop away from getting off the bus. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You grimaced sheepishly to yourself again. He’d probably wanted to address your uncouth behavior. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You tried to push the incident from your mind, but, every ten minutes or so, the memory of that beautiful young man sprang back to the forefront of your thoughts, and you couldn’t help hoping that you would get to see him again, if only once.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You were sitting in one of the cozy relaxation areas when you finally worked yourself up enough to research it. You’d heard of that condition before, but for the life of you, the memory would not surface.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Disorder where your skin has white patches</b>
</p><p>
  <span>You pressed enter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the very top of the search results, in big black text, </span>
  <b>Vitiligo.</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah yes, you remembered it now that you saw it. You put that in the search bar instead and clicked on the image tab.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Picture upon pictures of it. Yes, he definitely had vitiligo. All the articles said it was non-lethal and non-contagious. It simply caused the skin to become white and more sensitive to sunlight. Since the white patches no longer produced melanin, they couldn’t tan anymore, which left them susceptible to burning and scarring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You leaned your head back on the chair and blinked up at the ceiling. Most of the pictures you saw were definitely pretty. Like living canvases. You thought about tattoos for a moment, and how that turned people into living canvases. But there was something different about vitiligo. The randomness, the way it splashed across flesh like spilled paint. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You blushed. And it wasn’t just his condition that made him beautiful, either. His firm stance, his long fingers. His chiseled face. He was handsome, with or without his vitiligo. You probably would’ve found yourself staring at him had his skin been what seemed to be its original bronze color. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You rubbed your face and sighed. That’s all you needed. A crush on a random guy you didn’t even know.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>A photographer didn’t necessarily </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> a physical portfolio in this day and age of digital information, but you keep one anyways. It was a black leather binder with paper sleeves, glossy prints in each, even some negatives from your film photography days in high school about which you liked to reminisce. They were in chronological order, your oldest at the back and the newest at the front. You still had lots of sleeves to fill that you kept stashed away in your desk drawer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The binder thumped dryly on your desk, and you opened it from the back. Your film photographs -- all in black-and-white -- were good, but they lacked the crispness and depth that you had mastered in your following years. You sighed, your cheek on your palm. You wished you could afford a professional film camera and film and all the stuff to process and print. There were people in stores that could do the processing and the printing, but that just took all the fun out of it. You missed the dark room and the smell of chemicals and the sound of running water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your lips pursed into a pout. They had film photography classes here, but one had to supply one’s own camera. A camera you didn’t have.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You heaved another sigh. Good thing your roommate had moved out -- she’d dropped out -- because all of your huffing and puffing probably would have pissed her off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sheathes slipped and crinkled against one another as you continued flipping. When you had done your digital photography segments in high school, they had almost always occurred at the end of fall and right in the middle of spring. Those photos were bright, vivid, from the changing leaves to sprouting leaves and blooming flowers. You’d taken some winter pictures on your own time. Your favorite was a long dirt road covered in fresh white snow. The branches arching over were cloaked in white. It was all untouched by cars or the footprints of people and animals. It was a surreal tunnel into endless gray and white and brown. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You had the bare minimum for people. They were honestly your least favorite subject to photograph, but you’d had fun when you and an old high school friend went down to a creek for a photoshoot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, in your senior year, you’d finally gotten access to a car, demonstrated by the sudden expansion in subject matter in your portfolio. Abandoned houses with ivy devouring their sides, a derelict train station and grain mill, creative shots of reflections in the glass windows downtown and of the walls of the historical sectors. But still, they were peppered through with photographs of raw nature, your favorite subject and model. You had an amazing, award-winning shot of a hawk swooping down to snatch a rabbit in its talons. That photo had been all the rage at the county-wide art fair and competition.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You took a deep breath. Your portfolio was impressive, but the likelihood of becoming a photographer who specializes in nature shots was particularly low. Photographers who took pictures of people were far more marketable.</span>
</p><p><span>And you didn’t have a lot of portraits otherwise. You had some candid shots of strangers when you had been prowling the park for flowers or when you were wandering around campus, but you always made sure to leave out their faces for legal reasons. And of course, the assigned portrait projects from both high school and the few from college. People just didn’t interest you as much. You were surrounded by people every day, you saw them </span><em><span>every</span></em> <em><span>day</span></em><span>, and the prospect of photographing them </span><em><span>every day</span></em><span> simply didn’t titillate you. </span></p><p>
  <span>For what had to have been no less than the millionth time, you imagined having that beautiful young man as a model. His appearance was intriguing and mesmerizing, and you could already imagine some shots that would round out your portfolio. But, more than that, more than some pictures in plastic sleeves, the thought of photographing him </span>
  <em>
    <span>excited you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He would be fun, fascinating, fulfilling subject matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You sighed wistfully and flipped the binder shut. A piece of chapped lip was whittled between blunt incisors. You totally dashed any chances of that ever happening. If he would have ever been emotionally capable of accepting. He might be self-conscious of it, and tired of being on display already. Why would he want to be in the spotlight any more than he already is?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So you relegated that idea to the realm of unsubstantiated fantasy.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Even so, you found yourself on the look out for him whenever you went to any of the campus hotspots or when you were on the bus. True, thousands of students wandered about, and the likelihood of simply bumping into him when you hadn’t ever noticed him prior to the initial encounter on the bus was incredibly small, but you couldn’t help but look twice at everyone in hopes that you would spot him again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why have you been so tense lately?” Ryou, your best friend since that horrid chemistry class last year, asked as he stabbed his fork into the salad on the plate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You frowned. Curse him and his sensible eating habits. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chuckled. “C’mon, it’s like you’re expecting someone to pop out of nowhere and grab you. Did you do something illegal that you didn’t tell me about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my gosh, you caught me. I stole a roll of toilet paper from the ladies’ bathroom in the Arts building and also blew up a large truck by the library,” you hissed conspiratorially, leaning forward and cupping a hand around your mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lifted his water to his smiling lips. “Those are two crimes have a large difference in severity between them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You lifted a shoulder and poked at the noodles on your plate. “What can I say? Things escalated quickly.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryou smiled that brilliant, warm smile of his, but the concern in his eyes was more than evident to your trained gaze. “What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your lips twisted to one side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He said your name softly, and you sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just have a lot on my mind, I guess. I keep thinking about my portfolio. I mean, in all likelihood, I’m going to end up being a wedding photographer or something like that. But I barely have any portraits of, like, you know, actual human beings…? To really be able to do something like that,” you said, twirling a noodle around your fork tines. It was half the truth. You didn’t want to spill the beans about the Beautiful Bus Dude yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryou lifted a shoulder, his pale cheek on his paler palm. Really, everything about Ryou was pale, except for his dark eyes. “I could always model for you,” he offered, a tint of red on his cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You laughed softly. Shy Ryou, doing poses for your camera lens. “Yeah, if you could not blush the whole damn time. Do you think you could do that? I mean, a couple of bashful Ryou Bakura shots would be great, but I’d rather them not be all like that…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean…” Ryou’s shoulders were climbing to his ears, “I think I would get used to it, eventually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm, maybe,” you conceded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you maybe want to go to Duel Monsters club with me later today?” Ryou asked, turning his attention back to his food. “I know you normally go to your room and cloister yourself like a nun in a convent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You laughed genuinely. “I mean, I’m not quite as pure as a nun, but sure. And yeah, would I be welcome?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not gonna lie, they probably won’t notice you. There’s gonna be a big duel going down, and everyone’s practically frothing at the mouth with excitement.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You hummed. You’d played Duel Monsters a lot in middle school and a little less in high school. It was expensive to keep a deck up to date. Most of the cards in your personal collection were obsolete anymore. A lot of them were probably on the most recent ban lists, too. “I guess it would be interesting to see a throw-down. Are the Duelists any good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryou sputtered melodramatically. “Only the best. There’s Yugi and Atem, and I’d definitely say they’re the best in the whole club. Whenever they Duel, it gets practically everyone’s attention. Joey’s pretty good and getting better. He’s developing a sharp learning curve. Seto Kaiba --” your mouth dropped open at the mention of that name “-- isn’t technically in the club since he isn’t even attending this university, but he pops up all the time to challenge Atem or Yugi. There are a lot of others who are really good, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds interesting,” you chirped. And you weren’t lying. With so many skilled Duelists, club meetings had to be pretty interesting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In the next couple of weeks we’ll be picking out who’s going to represent us in the Intercollegiate Championships,” Ryou chattered. “Every university gets to have four representatives. Of course, we’ll be deciding who will based on good-old-fashioned Duels.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Duel Monsters was a pretty big deal -- it wasn’t just a game, it was a cultural phenomena. An economist had calculated that if Industrial Illusions (the creator of the game and supplier of the cards) went out of business suddenly, that the economy would suddenly crash. Cards, tournaments, entire periphery businesses, game shops, even theme parks and arenas. Duel Monsters had taken off like a rocket into the stratosphere and now it was here to stay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think you’ll be one?” You asked. He seemed awfully excited about it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, no. I don’t think I’ll make the cut.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You frowned. “Do you want to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yeah. It would be an amazing opportunity. But there’s a lot to go up against to even make it to our four,” Ryou explained. “I mean, Yugi and Atem will definitely make it in. Joey probably will, too. That leaves those of us remaining scrambling for that fourth spot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you can do it,” you replied. “You just gotta set your mind to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryou could be a tricky bastard when he wanted to be, too. You had no doubt in his abilities, in Duel Monsters or otherwise. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I ended up not finishing it because I had too many ideas and wasn't sure what one to use on this...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Nights In White Satin (Prideshipping, Fem!Seto)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rated E -- actual rating, CONTAINS EXPLICIT MATERIAL</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ahhh, the tried-and-true 'phone sex operator' trope! So, I wanted to play around with this trope a little, and also play around with some Fem!Seto Kaiba. I ended up with this idea. </p><p>Generally, this trope usually plays with the idea that the two participants actually somehow know each other in life, but, with this, Atem and Seto are complete strangers. </p><p>That being said, this 'chapter' contains PHONE SEX.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Atem slumped into his chair, ran a hand through his hair and puffed out his cheeks on a sigh. With a resigned frown, he put his headset on. Duke, his co-worker, leaned around the sound-absorptive divider to wink at him and give him a thumbs up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem gave a strained smile in return. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, what he was willing to sacrifice for the sake of education.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like, oh, his </span>
  <em>
    <span>dignity</span>
  </em>
  <span>. At least he managed to get through undergrad on scholarships. Now, debt was a looming threat over his head as he pursued his masters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Duke, a fellow grad student, heard of his plight and directed him… here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem rubbed his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was now a sex hotline opperator.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His parents were probably rolling in their graves now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His headset pinged -- a call was being directed to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scratch probably -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Definitely rolling in their graves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He composed himself, and the facade fell over him, a mask, or a cloak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was no longer Atem Sennen, struggling grad student and TA.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was Yami, phone-sex operator. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey there, gorgeous. How can I rock your world today?” Low, smooth. His naturally deep voice didn’t hurt -- if anything, it was an enormous boon. He had several returning customers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time of the day -- in the middle of the afternoon, wasn’t too bad a time to work, all things considered. It was often lonely housewives and stay-at-home mothers that needed some stress relief wrapped in a sexy package. But, of course, people from all timezones called in, so there were some other people mixed into the mess.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t get too many strange calls, at least in his opinion. At least, compared to Duke’s calls, he didn’t. Duke took both male and female callers, and he had some rather sordid stories to tell about his male clientele. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>However, that hardly meant he didn’t get any that didn’t make him extremely uncomfortable. One woman seemed to have an extreme pain kink -- knives, slapping, even being stepped on in a rather brutal fashion. That had been so far out of Atem’s comfort zone, but he was contractually obligated not to hang up the call, no matter how uncomfortable he got. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was one of the reasons he didn’t work from home like many of their operators -- he could compartmentalize this way. He could keep any discomfort away from his home, where he could relax after a long day of working on his thesis, working on his coursework, grading papers, and taking calls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the caller hung up -- wholly satisfied, based on the sounds she had made, Atem immediately slumped into the chair and rubbed his face again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced up at the clock. Seven and a half more hours on his shift.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>He took a very short break for dinner. It wasn’t as if he was technically clocked in -- he made money on commission for each call, not a solid hourly wage -- so a break to quickly eat a sandwich and refill his water bottle didn’t get in the way of making money too much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He settled back down in his seat, cracked his neck. It was dead silent. Duke was long gone, as was Mai. Somewhere out there, other people were filling in for them at home. He idly wondered, not for the first time, how many operators worked for this particular company, but he never cared enough to ask or look it up for himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ping-ping</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the ringing of his headset tore him from his lackadaisical musings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another tight breath, and he pressed the receive button. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey there, gorgeous, how can I rock your world tonight?” Low and smooth, Yami was on the line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rapid panting, breathy and nearly </span>
  <em>
    <span>mewling</span>
  </em>
  <span> already, and Yami grit his teeth hard. “I-I’ve been trying so hard,” came the airy whimper, “I can’t do it. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh. She’d already gotten started before she called</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yami shifted in his seat. “What have you been doing?” he asked, rumbling, purring to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“M-My hands,” she gasped, “my </span>
  <em>
    <span>toys</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” and her voice was wrought with clear frustration. “It’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>enough</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind Yami’s voice, Atem twitched with empathy. He fucking knew those kinds of nights far too well. Lonely and aching and yearning, but nothing could quell the fire burning within.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, baby, I’ve got you now. How do you want me to touch you?” he asked, soothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She made a noise of</span>
  <em>
    <span> pure</span>
  </em>
  <span> frustration. “J-Just, j-just -- dammit --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Relax, gorgeous. We’re not getting anywhere when you’re worked up like this,” he cooed. “Lay back and spread those beautiful legs for me.” And he heard sheets rustling, heard her settle on the other end, heard her fast breaths. It sounded like she had him on speaker. “Mm, that’s it. Nice and comfortable.” He waited until the shifting mostly stopped, and he continued, slow, drawling, sultry. “You’re so hungry, so eager to come. Good. I’m here to deliver. You’re so wet, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sharp inhale. “Y-Yes,” she choked out, breaths unsteady.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re so slick, I’d probably slip right in, wouldn’t I? I’d be so hot and thick inside you, just what you need to soothe that ache.” She moaned, and heat trickled through his veins as a smirk curled his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The one thing he hated most about his job… was how much he </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked</span>
  </em>
  <span> it when it wasn’t completely batshit crazy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But maybe that’s not what you need.” Her protestive grunt made him hurry to finish his thought. “Maybe you need my tongue on you. Do you want me to lick you until you scream, baby?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh god,” she breathed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm, you like it, don’t you? When men go down on you?” He chuckled, seductive, provocative. “When you have a tongue licking and swirling on you and making you just fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>crazy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” She was gasping hotly, and he distantly heard the buzzing of a vibrator, and his mouth instantly dried. “I-I don’t get it very often, but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>it.” A pause, she was panting and sheets were rustling, and then she whimpered, “I want it so </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I’ll tongue you open until you </span>
  <em>
    <span>beg</span>
  </em>
  <span> me to stop, baby.” He closed his eyes and took a meditative deep breath as she mewled again on the other end. “Yeah, I’ll pin your knees down and have my wicked way with your gorgeous body. Lick, lick, licking up and down and </span>
  <em>
    <span>pressing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, right there, right where you like it most.” And she cried out with wanton abandon, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> she was imagining it and copying his words with her vibrator. He licked his dry lips. “Or maybe I’ll lay back and let you have your way with </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Right above me, your hand in my hair, and I’ll taste you from beneath.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> she cried again, but it was so much more vehement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” he purred. “You like riding my face like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmhm,” huffed between pleasured whines. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You like it on top.” And he made a pleased noise in his throat. “I like it either way. As long as I get to make you come on my tongue.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was chanting it right in his ear, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>yes, yes, yes,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> and then mewling and then a pause where she was silent but he still heard the buzz of her toy and the shuffling of the sheets, and she was panting again, fast and hot, weak whimpers in the back of her throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, so good. You sound so beautiful when you come,” he murmured, and it wasn’t dishonest in any way. Heat was coiling low in his belly just </span>
  <em>
    <span>hearing</span>
  </em>
  <span> her fall apart, that pretty panting as she got off to the sound of his voice. “Sexy,” he purred, because it really was. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus</span>
  </em>
  <span>, this woman had a sexy voice. And then he was silent, waiting patiently for her to come back to herself and knowing to simply let her bask in the pleasure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the panting was just starting to recede and the buzzing abruptly stopped, he took in a short breath before he spoke again. “Feeling better now, baby?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hummed, content and languid, and Yami smiled privately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sheets rustled, and when she spoke, she sounded much closer; her voice, silvery but husky with pleasure, seemed to ripple pleasantly through his ears. “You get paid commission, right?” she asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinked. Words froze on his lips. His callers normally didn’t break the illusion of intimacy that he’d construct, but here this woman was, plowing right through it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello? Are you still there?” she huffed, impatient.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-Yes, I get commission. A percentage of every client’s payment is given to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hn,” she grunted, and sheets rustled, and he heard the faint huff of her breath. “Then you won’t mind waiting for me to recover for a second round, will you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mewling, begging, desperate woman from earlier was gone entirely, and now a voracious, demanding dragoness had taken her place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mm, what a twist. Yami simpered, “It’d be my pleasure, beautiful.” The longer the call went, the larger his percentage got, but he was also eager to see what this caller had in store for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s your name?” she asked, firm. “I want to know what to call out the next time you have me coming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Holy shit, this woman was forward.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was… actually pretty hot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shifted in his seat, and his lips parted, and the first vowel almost fell from his lips until he realized his slip-up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yami,” he managed as he rubbed at his forehead and tugged at his hair in frustration. That was the first time in a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> long time that he made that mistake -- giving out (or, in this case, </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost giving out</span>
  </em>
  <span>) his real name. If he had a generic name, it wouldn’t have been such a problem -- but he could only imagine how few Atems there were out there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yami,” she echoed, and her husky tone had a shiver crawling up his spine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chuckled. “It’s customary to reciprocate name-giving, is it not?” He wanted to know what to call this woman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hn,” she said, quiet and low. “It is,” a slow, calculating drawl. A huff, and she supplied, “Kai. Call me Kai.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Call</span>
  </em>
  <span> her Kai? Hm, she was using an alias, too. Intriguing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kai,” he murmured, testing it on his tongue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What else do you do, Yami?” she asked, purring. “Assuming you have a day job. Or do you simply sweet-talk to women as a living?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something in him bristled and stiffened -- his pride nicked by those sharp words, and so he answered a question he normally never would have answered truthfully. “I’m a teaching assistant at the local university.” A perfectly respectful job. Even if it didn’t pay as well as he hoped it would.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She made a smug, pleased noise. “Do your students know what you do at night? That you get women off between grading papers?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he could play her little game. He chuckled, seductive. “No, they don’t. It certainly would shock them, wouldn’t it? Knowing that I just scribble all over their essays to take up time between calls.” -- he’d actually done that more than once --</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s naughty,” she breathed. “It’s so fucking dirty and they don’t know a damn thing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And neither does the professor. All she knows is that the papers are always done when I say they will be. I always deliver when I make a promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I bet your students would be tripping all over themselves to get to the nearest phone if they knew what you do.” A noise low in her throat, somewhere between a moan and a chuckle. “I know I would. What straight woman could resist a voice like yours?” His lips parted, but she continued, “I wonder what the chances are that one of your students has called you, and you haven’t even known. She’d call and you’d pick up and she’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>instantly</span>
  </em>
  <span> recognize your voice, and she’d stay on the line anyways because, as dirty as it all is, she wants to hear you say how much you want her to ride your face.” A teasing laugh, but he could hear the arousal tinging her voice and her breath. “And she’d be in class the next day, and she’d think about when she touched herself while you whispered about how you’d tongue her open... and you’d be none the wiser.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His cheeks were hot, his fingertips trembled, his breath was tight in his throat. This felt dirtier than any call ever before -- it was about </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and the scenario Kai put forth, no matter how unlikely, was entirely possible. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But he was liking this.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was turning him on.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He closed his eyes, tilted his head back, felt how his arousal was warming his veins. “Those chances are low. I have such </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> students,” he replied. “Would you be a good student, Kai?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm, I’d make you think I was good. All of my perfectly-worded assignments in on time, all of my tests at the top of the class,” she breathed, “but in private I would definitely fantasize about fucking you on the professor’s desk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a cliched fantasy, definitely -- a dirty, forbidden tryst like this -- but it felt that much more taboo for him, because the next day he would be sitting at the front of the class listening to the professor’s lecture and then he would hand all those assignments back to the waiting students. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he rumbled, aroused and arousing, “Oh, Kai, I might seem like a proper man but I will fuck you like an animal on that desk.” He settled into the fantasy, let the role slip over him. “You’re my favorite student, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“None of those tittering sorority girls could ride your cock like I do. Of course I’m your favorite student,” she huffed back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was amused by her confidence, aroused by it, too. “We’ll have to be quick. Another class will be here in half an hour, and as much as I want to peel all of your clothes away at the most indulgent pace--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just hike my skirt up,” she panted. “I wore it just for you, Yami.” She moaned. "Just for you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're a good student but such a naughty woman," he purred. "You planned all of this to tempt me, didn't you? I bet you're not even wearing panties under there."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You are such a smart man," she cooed teasingly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He growled, imagined it, imagined soft lips mouthing the words at his ear, imagined soft thighs spread around his hips, imagined touching those legs and drifting up and finding nothing but skin in his path. "I am going to fuck you right here. Right on this desk. My lips on your neck and my pants around my ankles. How does it feel to reduce your TA to a humping animal, Kai?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her panting breaths echoed in his ears, and he wished he could feel the gust of her breath. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Powerful</span>
  </em>
  <span>." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Goddamn</span>
  </em>
  <span>," he hissed, not at all play-acting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's so good. I see how all the other girls look at you, but they're not here right now. They're not the ones about to get fucked senseless by you, Yami."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, they're not. I've never done this before, not with a student, not in such a place," and he grit the next words out on a lascivious snarl, "you </span>
  <em>
    <span>wicked</span>
  </em>
  <span> temptress."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Teach me a lesson, Yami, one I'll never forget," she whimpered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, I'll fucking teach you a lesson, all right. First, just like this. Face-to-face, your ass on the desk and your legs around my waist. I hope you're ready for me, Kai, because we don't have time to waste," he ground out, and he realized with a shock that his hand was on the front of his pants, that he was stroking slowly, stimulating himself as he imagined fucking this faceless women on Doctor Ishtar's desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That buzzing, and everything in him shuddered. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I’m ready. Give it to me,” came her mewling reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He growled, feral, “The desk is creaking and your skirt is all bunched up, and you’re so damn hot and wet and </span>
  <em>
    <span>tight</span>
  </em>
  <span>. How hard can I go, Kai? How hard can I fuck you before you beg me to stop?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Harder</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she gasped, and he heard her hot, breathy panting. She must have already been sensitive from her previous orgasm, and, in his mind, he saw thighs jumping with pleasure in time with those sinful vibrations. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harder? I’ll give you harder. You’ll have bruises on your hips and legs from me, but you like it, don’t you? You’ll see them and remember how good I made you feel on this desk in this classroom and you’ll touch yourself, won’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” she cried, whimpering, her voice saturated with pleasure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll think of you, too. I’ll sit in this room and think about how I fucked you into stupor right where the professor sets her damn briefcase. No one will know, no one but us.” His every word was a sexual hiss, seducing her deeper into the fantasy and closer to orgasm. “No one will know how I made you claw at that beautiful polished wood while you cried for more.” Her trembling mewl made his fingers tighten over himself, and he grit his jaw, his eyes rolling up to glare sightlessly at the ceiling, as he tried to contain himself. “Are you learning your lesson yet, Kai?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was chanting incoherent babble, and that quickly dissolved into choking gasps, and sheets rustled and the vague image of a writhing, feminine body flooded the forefront of his brain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s right, come for me,” and the sound of his voice surprised even him -- so low and sexual, raw and hungry, and he pulsed from the inside out in torrid desire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yami,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she groaned, throaty, animalized, and then higher, airy mewls that had his hips hitching in his seat.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I was told that I would be better off initially writing this from Seto's POV, but... I never got around to it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Lamb (Prideshipping, Fem!Atem)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rated T -- proposed rating if I ever actually managed to finish this.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Er, yeah. As you might have noticed, I have a genderbending problem. Particularly when it comes to Prideshipping...? Anyways, this was me getting my grubby paws on the Dragon AU. </p><p>Atem is the 'virgin sacrifice' to the big bad dragon, Seto Kaiba. Except, he's the wrong white dragon.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ash clouded the sky. The air was blistering hot, and she could only hear the roaring of towering flames and the bellowing of the giant white beast in the sky and the cries of people dying and burning. She saw them, flashing and swooping through the billowing clouds of smoke -- wings, pale and massive, the flash of a tail, monstrous jaws parting and flame spilling forth to ravage all who were caught in its path. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then she saw them, gray eyes and a scarred, scaled face, and the monster shrieked even as it regurgitated fire upon her city and her people.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She fell to her knees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Flames reflected in her glassy red eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was nothing she could do to stop it.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>She sat amongst the other survivors. She cradled close a crying child, and she absently petted the young girl’s hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is the fifth attack in as many months!” a man, one of her father’s advisors, bellowed. “But it is the first upon the capital! This malicious beast is </span>
  <em>
    <span>targeting</span>
  </em>
  <span> us! Reports from survivors tell the same old tale -- the culprit of all incidences is one and the same.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something must be done,” a woman wailed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stroked the child’s hair, felt tears soak into her shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was nothing she could do to help.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“If it wants blood, we’ll give it blood!” the temple priest declared. “Such a savage beast will be sated by nothing less.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It has already taken blood,” the blacksmith spat. “We are bled dry -- we can give no more!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blood pure, from maiden borne! The gods have ordained such sacrifice to appease, and perhaps they shall sway the beast themselves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those gathered murmured among themselves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A virgin sacrifice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pushed through the crowd, and they readily parted for her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I forfeit my life -- it shall be me,” she declared, and her firm voice carried over the decimated town square.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Princess Atem!” a royal advisor gasped, lurching forward to grasp at her arm. “What--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook him off. “I will not stand idly by as a dragon slaughters my father’s people -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> people. It already took my father. My uncle shall reign in his stead. I am powerless, but for this I can offer myself. I am not yet wed -- a virgin still. You shall find no purer blood in all the two kingdoms.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cries of dissent rang out through the soot-stained air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“None will convince me otherwise!” she called over the cacophony. “No innocent girl will be served before the beast when I can take her place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the temple priest was eyeing her critically. “Her words carry merit -- a greatest sacrifice of virtuous royal flesh will surely curry favor with the deities on high!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pointed to her with one long robed arm. “Prepare her!”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>They bathed her in the river, washed away the soot and the grime and the blood. She was dressed in what clean clothes they could find -- a commoner’s tunic, but it would do for their purposes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was facing Death anyhow -- he would not take note of her apparel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now she sat in a wagon, trudging off into the countryside. They’d bound her wrists and ankles -- measures in case she changed her mind and attempted to flee. But fleeing was the last thing on her mind, and if it wasn’t, she could have easily escaped -- she’d hidden a dagger beneath her clothes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She may not be able to kill the beast, but she would give it one hell of a fight if it decided to devour her.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So yeah, Atem gets tied to a stake at the top of a hill. Kaiba comes, but she realizes he's the wrong white dragon (the RIGHT white dragon is actually Bakura). When she tells Kaiba that he's 'The wrong dragon,' he gets more than a little pissed and decides to take her anyway.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. It's Not Flattery If It's True (Dragonshipping)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rated E -- proposed rating if I were to ever finish it. </p><p>Joey Wheeler is not used to compliments… or maybe he is, but Atem's compliments never fail to fluster him, no matter how many times he hears them.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I had wanted to write something stupidly fluffy. Also, exploring praise kinks a little. In other words, this would've been mostly fluff with a dash of smut at the end. Buuuuuut I didn't end up finishing it. Obviously. Since it's in here TT-TT</p><p>I actually posted the first bit of this as a drabble on tumblr, too.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He was cozy and warm and a warm hand was stroking lazily through his hair. He blinked hazily. The world around him was fuzzy and unfocused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he heard that deep chuckle from above him, saw the bleary edges of that oh-so-recognizable silhouette. His lips quirked up sleepily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, 'Tem," he slurred and leaned into the gentle fingertips massing into his scalp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why, hello yourself," came the sonorous reply. Atem really did have a nice voice, Joey decided staunchly, again, as he would many times more. "You know, it's not everyday that I come home to such a </span>
  <em>
    <span>handsome</span>
  </em>
  <span> man sleeping on my couch." Smooth, suave, flirtatious but genuine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The heat in his cheeks was undeniable, but Joey tried to anyways -- he buried his face into the pillow he was resting on and grumbled heartily. The cushions sagged -- Atem sat right on the edge, his thigh against Joey's stomach. His warm, gentle hand kneaded the back of Joey's neck and then petted down his back in long, soothing, wonderful strokes. Joey couldn't help his sigh of content -- Atem liked to touch, and Joey was a tactile person, too (though he, admittedly, wasn't as used to affectionate touches as he'd like to be).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I sure hope it's my beloved boyfriend on the couch, and not some beautiful stranger I'm touching so much," Atem continued, leaning down to chastely kiss Joey's clothed shoulder. "I don't really know, since he's hiding his marvelous face from my view."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Atem</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Joey groaned. He rolled onto his back and half-heartedly glared up at those twinkling jewel-like eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ah, good, beloved boyfriend it is," Atem chuckled, and the pads of his bronzed fingers pressed at Joey's chin, and he was leaning closer and closer until their lips touched gently, chastely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even Atem's lips were gentle, Joey thought sleepily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How was your day, Joey?" Atem asked, shifting to nuzzle his face into Joey's neck and lay his body gently against Joey's chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mm, work was long. Borin'. But tirin'. Nap was good, though. Yours?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A delighted sigh that gusted against Joey's throat. "It's wonderful, now."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved </span>
  </em>
  <span>cuddling -- it probably had something to do with being in thousands of years of isolation, Joey surmised. Joey wrapped an arm around Atem and set a hand at his waist, where he sleepily stroked with his fingertips. Atem all but </span>
  <em>
    <span>purred.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"Was it not 'wonderful' before?" Joey asked, eyes falling closed again as Atem's cozy warmth seeped through him like sunshine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A grunt. "Well, you know how Kaiba is."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Complete hardass," Joey murmured back, lip quirking again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mm," came the responding hum.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I feel like it's still naptime," Joey slurred as he felt himself drifting off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mmhm…"</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>They weren't asleep long before Joey's growling stomach urged them to get up and make dinner. It was Joey's turn to cook, but Atem hovered close, occasionally leaning his shoulder into Joey's arm or brushing his fingers along the small of Joey's back. He helped, too, when it was needed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem leaned his cheek on Joey's shoulder for a brief moment. "You really do make the most </span>
  <em>
    <span>exquisite</span>
  </em>
  <span> pillow, my dear."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joey's cheeks were just hot because of the steam. Yeah, the steam. Not because Atem's endearments made Joey's heart go pitter-patter in his chest, no, not that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Joey saw Atem interact with all sorts of people, but never had he heard Atem say the words "my dear" or "my beloved" and never had he heard him speak with such a tone -- sweet and warm and tender, not even with Yugi, and the knowledge alone choked him up at times, though he would hide it behind stiff coughs).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not just your pillow, ya know?" Joey grumbled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, I know," Atem murmured back, and he pressed a kiss to Joey's hot cheek. "You're so much more than that," he whispered, and his deep voice tingled the nerves in Joey's ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joey's shoulders shot up and he shuddered. "That fuckin' tickles."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem leaned away and laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Anyways, leave me alone. I'm tryna cook ya dinner and ya keep distractin' me, bonehead!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But I like distracting you, Joey…" Atem purred, nuzzling close like an affectionate cat to rub up on his boyfriend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Dammit, Atem," Joey growled, but it was with a gentle elbow that he nudged Atem off of him. "Everyone thinks ya so nice, but ya really just an evil brat."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And would ya stop rubbin' up on me! I'm tryna cook!"</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>"Dinner was delicious," Atem said as he took their plates to the sink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"As you've said a million times already," Joey groused playfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem looked over his shoulder and winked. Joey's heart fluttered. What gave Atem the right to be so devilishly good-looking? The bastard. "Well, it's not like I'm wrong."</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Black Velvet (Dragonshipping)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rated E -- proposed rating if I ever actually finished this</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, yeah, I actually really like Dragonshipping. Also, I wanted to try out the pop/rockstar trope. This was my first proposition. There is also a Prideshipping (with Fem!Seto) version of this, too. Also unfinished... Er. Yeah. I didn't like how this turned out so I ended up dropping it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Serenity had her earbuds in again, her eyes glued to whatever was on the screen of her smartphone. Joey, reclined on the couch kitty-corner from her, scowled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damn kids and their technology.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just wanted a day with his little sister. Not her oddly enraptured face at whatever happenings were occurring on her phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What ya watchin’?” Joey asked. He hid his irritation behind curiosity. He did, after all, want to know what she was watching.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, for once, her volume was turned down low enough for her to hear him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Music video,” she absent-mindedly replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joey’s lips twisted to the side a little. “Huh.” The only music videos he’d managed to watch were ones that people actually showed him or when he was on some odd and end music channel on his beat-up television. (A CRT, if that said anything about how in-touch he was with twenty-first century technology.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Serenity shook her head softly. “Wow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joey sniffed. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head again. “You know how much I love Mai Valentine’s music.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Joey replied. A little droll. “Love” didn’t cut it. Serenity was </span>
  <em>
    <span>obsessed</span>
  </em>
  <span> with that particular singer. Joey guessed he didn’t mind so much; it was better than One Direction or some shit like that. At least Mai Valentine’s music seemed to have more substance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that Joey would know that. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He </span>
  </em>
  <span>didn’t listen to Mai Valentine. At all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, her latest single is her first song to ever feature another artist. I mean, it literally just came out, about five minutes ago. They apparently released the music video simultaneously,” she babbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. I don’t get what’s quite so ‘wow’ about the situation, yet, Sis,” Joey said, leaned his head back even more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, first of all, this guy’s voice is amazing,” she replied, eyes still glued to her phone. “Second, he’s like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>hot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joey frowned. “Not sure I can trust your celebrity crushes, Serenity. You still got that thing for that creep, Duke Devlin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked at him, her cheeks a little pink. Joey’s frown deepened. He wondered for a moment whether or not his eyebrows would fuse together, they were furrowing so hard. Her eyes moved back to her screen. “This man’s… different.” She tapped the screen a couple of times, and shifted her phone in her slender hands to type something in a blur of thumbs. “He’s got a bunch of his own music. I’ve never even heard of him before.” A few more seconds of silence. “He’s even got some covers of older songs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s his name?” Joey asked. Only a little bit curious. Not because he was interested. Not because this guy had to be good if he was featured in one of Mai Valentine’s songs. Not at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yami,” Serenity answered. “Pretty sure it’s just a moniker, though. Like ‘Lady Gaga’ or ‘Madonna.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the context, Joey guessed she meant something along the lines of a stage name. “Huh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” she suddenly gasped, and Joey whipped his head back over to her. She was blushing down at her screen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gulped, suddenly clicked her phone off. “Nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” Joey asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” she squeaked again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was it, Sis?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His curiosity to find what had affected his sister so drove him to launching himself off the couch and wrestling her into submission and prying her phone from her fingers. She whimpered in embarrassment as Joey gasped, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was an album cover, Joey guessed, based on the title scrawling across the top of the image.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A very, </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> racy album cover.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The profile of a tan body, lithe and lean and muscular, prostrate against a black backdrop.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Long Story Short, Atem is a sexy bastard, Joey gets the hots over the sexy bastard (even though he won't admit it), and he writes a letter of complaint to the record company about how inappropriate the album covers/lyrics are (because he's an angry gay in denial). SURPRISE, Atem is actually the one to write him back. </p><p>They become penpals. Sexy penpals. They eventually meet in person and become regular old sexy pals. The End.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Reunion (Prideshipping)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rated E -- proposed rating if I ever were to finish and post this</p><p>The only reason Seto Kaiba is going to his ten-year high school reunion is because *he* is supposed to be there -- “he” being Atem Muto, Kaiba’s former teacher and long-time obsession. Maybe, just maybe, all these years later, Kaiba will finally get the attention he’s been yearning for…</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Or the Prideshipping AU where Atem was and is still a history teacher at Domino City High School and where Seto Kaiba was once his student. No teacher/student relationship, since nothing really happens until long after the fact. Also, TsundereExtraordinaire!Seto Kaiba.</p><p>I wanted to play around with the idea of an age-gap, and also Awkward-As-Hell Seto Kaiba trying to seduce his sexy former history teacher 10 years after he graduated.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Seto Kaiba rarely checked his Facebook account. It was always cluttered with random shit that random fucking people would tag him in and the utter mess of it made it feel like he would suddenly keel over from an aneurysm just from looking at it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, sometimes he would look through it just to see what pathetic lives some of his “friends” led (and Mokuba posted college photos that Seto genuinely enjoyed looking through). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the app opened, a groan rumbled in his throat and his eyes rolled to the back of his skull. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over a thousand notifications.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His exhale hissed through his nose, and he moved his thumb to close the window, but the notification at the top of the list caught his eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Tea Gardner invited you to an event: DCHS Class of 2009 10 Year Reunion</b>
</p><p>
  <span>He snorted. As if he would want to go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he clicked it anyways.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ten years after we all parted ways, it’s time to celebrate our memories of the past and see how far we all have come--</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Kaiba nearly gagged. Gross sentimental shit. No thanks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The “Invited” list was stupidly large, and the “Not Going” was unfortunately small. Do these people have nothing better to do with their lives?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed derisively. It really wasn’t a surprise. Most of them probably peaked in high school, anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He clicked the “Going” list.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the top, it listed in alphabetical order his “friends”. And at the top of the top…</span>
</p><p><b>Atem Muto:</b> <b>Going</b></p><p>
  <span>Kaiba froze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem Muto </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> still work at the high school… but going to a ten-year reunion of a graduating class…?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kaiba grunted softly. Yugi Muto, the younger of the two siblings, was in the graduating class of 2009, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kaiba scrolled down.</span>
</p><p><b>Yugi Muto:</b> <b>Going</b></p><p>
  <span>Kaiba sighed through his nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>How old would Atem be now…?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blue eyes rolled up to the ceiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kaiba graduated when he was eighteen… Atem had been… Twenty-five… at the time...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thirty-five.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem would be thirty-five.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kaiba shivered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seven years… Seven years seemed a lot less daunting now than it had ten years ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kaiba’s thumb touched the screen.</span>
</p><p><b>Seto Kaiba:</b> <b>Going</b></p><hr/><p>
  <b></b>
  <em>
    <span>Mr. Muto had such slender hands. The knuckles, the tendons on the backs of the hands, everything was so well-defined, strangely elegant and… aesthetic. Kaiba thought briefly of Leonarda Da Vinci and the Mona Lisa and her hyper-realistic hands.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hands were not supposed to look so… attractive, especially when holding a dry-erase marker.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mr. Muto was facing the board, his arm raised as he quickly jotted notes onto the board. His handwriting was so gracefully sloppy. The stretched position of his shoulders drew tight his button-down shirt over his back. That deep voice resonated in the classroom. Mr. Muto commanded silence without speaking a word. Perhaps he was simply that captivating. Kaiba used to hate it, hate how every simple syllable spilling from this man’s lips, every subtle motion of his body enthralled him. But he got over it half-way through freshman year. Ever since then…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He let his eyes dropped down. Mr. Muto hardly ever tucked in his shirt, but even still, Kaiba could just barely see the seat of Mr. Muto’s pants.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ever since then, he could admit to himself that Atem Muto had a </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>great </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>ass. Really, the best-looking ass he'd ever taken notice of (which he would wish was a lot less, but he was, after all, a teenage boy; it was bound to be too many). </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mr. Muto was small, but his body looked so firm. Muscular. Lithe but lean. Sexy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, Mr. Muto was </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>sexy</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course the female students pined after him. But, little did he know, so did Seto Kaiba. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He imagined those red-violet eyes clouded with lust; that deep, stately voice devolved to salacious whimpering and lustful begging; those long, slender legs reduced to a shaky mess around Kaiba's hips; those pretty, </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>pretty </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>hands scrambling at his back, or just </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>touching </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>him in return.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Kaiba looked away suddenly, hand pressed to his mouth. Dear god. He should have enough self-control to </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>not </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>do this right in the middle of class!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So he reigned in the thoughts, stored them in a precious box -- a well-used box -- designed explicitly for this purpose, to be used later.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And oh, how he used them later.</span>
  </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Kaiba adjusted his tie in the mirror. Of course, he dressed down for the occasion, but Seto Kaiba's "dressing down" was still at least a thousand dollars more expensive than any other given person. A fine silk blue shirt tucked into flattering black slacks. He pulled on a matching vest and tucked the tie beneath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked into the mirror again and fiddled with his hair. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Seto hates history classes, and yet he took every single one that Atem taught... </p><p>Also, Atem is Completely Oblivious (or is pretending to be) at the reunion as Seto tries to seduce him. </p><p>This just would've been a concoction of awkward humor and sinful sexiness as Atem gets swept off his feet by his former student.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Change (pt II Sealshipping, Fem!Atem)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rated E -- THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Mahad is in his first year of grad school and Atem is in her third year of undergrad. Atem invited Mahad over to ‘help her study’ (she was planning to seduce him; she has no problem with school whatsoever). They’ve shared a few pecks on the lips and cheeks over the years, and Mahad deluded himself into believing that Atem had no romantic intentions by them. She kissed him again a few days prior to this scene and finally got tired of it and decided to pounce on her man. (Also, hints to Mahad getting stupidly horny over Atem and feeling ashamed at all prior instances)</p><p>Btw, this is semi-awkward first-time sexual contact. Virgins are awkward.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His thoughts were nothing but a hot rush through his head. Distantly, he could connect it all in a fragile web – this was <em>Atem</em> in his lap rubbing herself on him and panting his name so brokenly and scattering all notions of anything – resistance, acceptance, reciprocation – to the wind.</p><p>“Mahad,” she whimpered hotly against his jaw, and her hands were <em>everywhere</em>, petting his chest and stroking his neck and brushing over his cheeks.</p><p>He wasn’t sure how he responded, only that it tangled up in his throat and choked out into the hot, stuffy air. He was surrounded by her, by her scent – so warm and feminine and <em>arousing</em> – by her warmth that filtered through all the layers of clothing dividing them, by her sensual sounds as she gyrated on his lap so desirously.</p><p>Her hips dipped particularly low, and his breath tumbled in his lungs and he arched, his shoulders pressing back into the pillows he was propped on. “<em>Mahad,</em>” she gasped, her hands resting on his chest, and the heat of her palms burned all the way through his shirt. “I want you,” came the hot whimper against his throat, and he felt the swipe of her tongue on his neck.</p><p>He’d never imagined this in his wildest dreams, never in his shameful fantasies that he harbored late at night like shadowed fugitives.</p><p>“<em>Atem</em>,” he croaked, dazed hands tightening the slightest on her hips as they churned in a slow circle that made his thighs jump.</p><p>“You feel so good,” she whispered, trembling with her fast breathing, and her hands squeezed and groped at his chest that heaved with pleasure and choked gasps. But then one of her hands, so small and delicate in comparison, landed on one of his, and she pulled it away from her hip… only to duck it beneath the hem of her shirt. Mahad could feel it in his throat – a thick, flustered whimper – when his fingers brushed against the hot skin of her stomach, up, and then her hand was pressing his to lace and she was cupping his hand over her clothed breast.</p><p>She gasped and arched and squeezed his hand beneath hers and he was squeezing her breast and then their eyes were meeting. He’d never seen Atem like this; her face flushed and her lips parted and her jaw dropped open a little in pleasure and <em>desire</em>. He’d never seen those pretty violet eyes so heated, molten and <em>hungry</em>, and he understood now that she was <em>devouring</em> him, taking what she yearned for, and when he squeezed her breast again, it was of his own accord.</p><p>“Mahad,” she mewled, her hand trembling over his, and her other was petting his forearm that was half-tucked under her shirt. The material was riding up, and he saw her stomach, her bare waist, a flash of ribs and the bright lace of the edge of her bra. “Touch me more,” she groaned, silvery but no small amount aroused.</p><p>“Oh god.” Mahad was sure his brain was melting out of his ears. “I don’t – I don’t kn-know <em>how</em>,” he gasped.</p><p>He’d… he’d <em>never</em> touched a woman like this before – he had no idea what to <em>do</em> – how to make her feel <em>good</em>.</p><p>
  <em>He wanted her to feel good.</em>
</p><p>Her hands were curling around the hem of her shirt, and in one fluid motion it was over her head and fluttering to land on the floor, forgotten, by her small dorm bed. Her hair fell about her shoulders, wild and dark even against her skin, and the unpolished amethyst crystal of her necklace – the necklace crafted by his own hands so long ago – thumped down against her manubrium. And there she was, perched on his lap, her lithe, feminine body half-bared to him, and his eyes couldn’t process the sight of his large, masculine hand standing dark against the bright of her bra. Dazed, his mind disconnected from his body, his fingers twitched and watched how her flesh moved beneath the pressure of his touch, felt how the lace tickled the pad of his thumb.</p><p>“It’s okay,” she breathed, her hand settling over his again, and he tried his best to gulp but his mouth was dry and the action hurt his throat. “I’ll show you, Mahad.” She squeezed, slowly, gently, rhythmically in time with her churning hips, guided him in a tender kneading of her breast. He could see her body <em>move</em>, watched bone and muscle press up against her beautiful bronzed flesh.</p><p>And his other hand trailed up, from her clothed hip to her bare waist. His palm cupped that hot skin, and slid up, until laced edged along his other hand. Slow and cautious, he met her gaze for permission, and the liquid desire in her eyes stole the breath from his lungs, and she pressed herself into his hands.</p><p>Her own dropped to his chest to stabilize herself, and she leaned down to brush breathy, wet kisses on his jaw. The tip of the amethyst brushed along his neck. “Your hands are so big,” she whimpered, and her breath wafted against and cooled the saliva on his skin. “I knew they’d feel so good.” He turned his head, just slightly. She met his lips, a hot kiss, so much different from the one they shared only two days ago, and from the chaste ones that had been scattered over the years that he had tried so hard not to think about. “I’ve wanted you to touch me for so long.” She petted his chest sensually. “And to touch you back.”</p><p>He choked as she slowly dragged her hips up along him but pressing <em>down</em>, stroking him with her body. Dear god, he was going to come in his pants if she kept this up. “<em>I’ve </em>wanted to t-touch you,” he gasped. “But – but –”</p><p>She sat up; her brows furrowed with worry even as she panted. “But what?”</p><p>He moved his hands up, cupped her face, that beautiful, graceful face of hers, the face of who was once the little girl he adored as a boy and now the woman who enthralled him as a man. “I never thought – <em>Jesus, Atem</em>, I never thought I’d get you. You deserve – you <em>deserve</em> –”</p><p>She placed a hand over his mouth, her nose hovering over his. “I <em>deserve</em> a man who respects me and cares for me. I deserve someone good and honest, hard-working and humble. I deserve <em>you</em>, Mahad.”</p><p>“<em>I</em> don’t deserve –” he began, muffled by her hand, but she was quick to cut him off.</p><p>“You <em>do</em>,” she insisted, “You’re kind and compassionate and loyal and selfless. You’re a good man, such a good man,” and now she was stroking his lips with her fingertips. “I want you and you want me,” she whispered. “I don’t understand what’s keeping us apart anymore.”</p><p>“What about your parents?” he croaked. “Your mother and father <em>trust </em>me, and I –”</p><p>“Oh, Mahad,” she pressed their foreheads together. “I don’t think you know how <em>overjoyed</em> they would be. They know you’ve taken such good care of me, and there’s no way that would change if we were together, would it?”</p><p>“Of course not,” he replied, tender but vehement.</p><p>“Then <em>touch me</em>, Mahad,” she whispered, back to rubbing herself on him so slowly – sweet, sweet torture. “I want it, <em>you</em> want it.” She pressed a kiss to his lips. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”</p><p>He gulped, lifted his head up to kiss her again. “Then show me,” he croaked, “show me how you like it.”</p><p>He groaned, bereft, when she moved off him and stood by the edge of the bed, but her hands hooked into her leggings and she was pulling them down, down. Despite her petite frame, she had such long, slender legs, legs he had many times imagined mapping and memorizing with his hands and his lips. She kicked the material off her feet, and she was almost naked before him, her body covered only by her undergarments that clung to her in such a titillating manner –</p><p>And he knew that she’d been planning to seduce him all along, because even <em>he</em> knew that a woman generally didn’t coordinate her bra and underwear in that manner on a regular basis –</p><p>And he sat up and back against the pillows and the headboard when she bent down and reached under the bed, and suddenly everything seemed so real and sharply vivid when he realized what she was pulling out.</p><p>
  <em>That was lubricant.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And it was half-empty.</em>
</p><p>Every blood vessel in his body throbbed with desire. He <em>knew</em> that she didn’t have any experience with men beyond kissing, and that left only <em>one reason</em> that that bottle was opened and used.</p><p>Oh god, it was so dirty to imagine. (So dirty, so tantalizing, so <em>sensual</em>, and he could only hope that she thought about him like he thought about her during those lonely moments of self-comfort.)</p><p>And she crawled back onto the bed, and she set that bottle next to them, and it felt heavier than it probably was, like it could burn a hole through the blankets and the mattress with its sheer weight. But then a different weight was settling on him. Atem, warm and sensual and nearly naked, rested in his lap, her beautiful thighs spread over his own, and that pulsing desire within and without him intensified to an aching throb.</p><p>“You’re gorgeous,” he croaked, shaking hands settling on her hips and feeling lace and hot, smooth skin. “Stars above, I swear I’m dreaming.”</p><p>“You’re not,” she whispered, stroking his chest again, and she kissed him, slow and tender. “I’m right here,” the words ghosted against his lips.</p><p>“You’re right here,” he repeated, a gentle, incredulous laugh fluttering in his lungs. “Atem…” he groaned when she shifted purposely, ground down on him more, and he didn’t restrain his own hips in their instinctive flexes into her motions.</p><p>She was panting against cheek again, and her words huffed against his ear, “We should trade places.”</p><p>He gulped and nodded, and carefully gathered her against him and cautiously rotated them on the small twin-sized bed. And then Atem was beneath him, <em>Atem</em>, with her wild hair haloing around her, her svelte body cushioned by pillows, her amethyst crystal falling to one side of her neck. He was between her thighs, laying against her body, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut and breathe deeply to stave off the powerful wave of arousal that threatened to undo him then and there.</p><p>Her palms spread on his chest gently pushed him up and he quickly propped himself up and off her. And then her hands slid down, along his clothed chest, and he suddenly and vehemently cursed himself in his mind. He could have had her hands on his bare skin by now – but he realistically knew that her fingers on the flesh of his chest, digging into his back, would surely have ended him at her first touch.</p><p>She reached between them, and heat bolted into his gut when he watched her thumbs hook into the waistband of her panties, but she stopped there, and he looked back up to her face. She was looking at him, her expression clearly reading <em>is this okay? </em>in the tilt of her eyebrows and the pinch of her lips. He sat up, gave her room, and she was nudging her underwear down her thighs.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, oh god, it’s happening.</em>
</p><p>He forced himself not to outright stare at her, and that task was made easier when her panties were caught at her knees and he needed to help her pull them off the rest of the way and – why were her legs so <em>smooth</em>? – they felt like silk beneath the occasional brushes of his fingertips and palms.</p><p>But that only gave him a partial minute, and then he remembered he was kneeling between her bare thighs, and she wasn’t wearing anything <em>down there</em>, and she wanted to be <em>touched.</em></p><p>
  <em>And he wanted to touch her.</em>
</p><p>She chuckled, low and breathy, “Mahad, you can look. You asked me to show you, didn’t you?”</p><p>Yes, yes he did, but his vocal cords weren’t working anymore, so he settled for a flustered nod, and he met her eyes – blisteringly hot but tenderly warm at the same time – and followed her arm down to her hand, to her delicate wrist, to those slender fingers where she was… where she was…</p><p>His lips fell open, and a strangled groan tangled on his tongue.</p><p>She parted herself with two fingers, and another dropped lower, collected that wetness he could <em>see </em>and <em>smell</em> on her fingertip and dragged it up to draw a slow circle on her pink, swollen flesh. Her breath rushed out, and he looked up at her, stared into the eyes that were locked on his face, gazed blearily at her parted lips and flushed cheeks and hazy violet irises.</p><p>“I…” she started, and she paused to huff out a breath and lick her lips as her head rolled to one side. “I might not even need the lube,” she chuckled, mostly to herself, and she met his eyes again, looked up at him through her lashes. “Watch me, Mahad.”</p><p>“I am,” he croaked, though he had to force his eyes away from her face to watch her touch herself, watch her demonstrate what she liked and how she liked it. Broad circles, pushing that flesh around, rolling it with the pad of her fingertip, and then dipping down occasionally to get more of that slickness that eased the way for her self-indulgent touches. Her hips were churning and rocking subtly, and he thought about how she had gyrated on his lap so hungrily, because she had been desiring a touch like this the whole time.</p><p>“Oh god,” she gasped, arching when she pressed the whole length of her finger against herself and ground herself up and rubbed and rocked for a few seconds before she was back to those circles.</p><p>He was torn, torn between watching to learn and watching her face, so aroused and blissful as she watched him watch her, and he thought about his thoughts earlier, and he could ever more clearly imagine her touching herself when wreathed in shadow and writhing alone on her bed with her hand between her thighs.</p><p>Her breathing was fast, but her touches were still those broad circles that just barely touched the edges of where it seemed she liked it most, and he realized she was working herself up, getting herself to <em>hunger</em> for it. <em>God,</em> it was the most erotic thing he’d ever witnessed.</p><p>That panting, almost musical, filled his ears and made him delirious, but her soft whimper of “<em>Mahad</em>” had him groaning through gritted teeth. He was so hard for her, so aroused, it was painful in the confines of his pants, but he couldn’t do anything about it, couldn’t bring himself to do anything that would take his attention away from the beautiful mirage coming to life beneath him on Atem’s bed.</p><p>Especially as he watched her other hand rub sensually at her straining, heaving stomach, and then climb up and grip and knead at her clothed breast. But she huffed, her eyebrows furrowing, and she rolled her shoulder to let the bra strap sag down her shoulder and she was pushing the lace away, a little further down her stomach. Her breasts were modest but so <em>shapely</em>, and he distantly realized his hips were rutting forward subtly as he watched her fingers spread over her bare breast, her dusky, aroused nipple peaking between the gaps of her fingers.</p><p>“I’m going to touch you,” he said, and he didn’t recognize the husky, breathless voice that poured from his lips.</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>,” she breathed, arching invitingly.</p><p>And he ducked his hands under her to fumble with the clasp on her bra and groaned in frustration when his trembling fingers simply refused to cooperate with him. But he somehow managed to undo it, and he was drawing it down her arms and mindlessly discarding it over the edge of the mattress.</p><p>Atem was naked save for her necklace beneath him – that crystal was tilted to one side, twinkling dully against her flushed skin and shifting against her throat that undulated with each of her swift, heavy breaths. Those violet eyes were hazy and teary with pleasure, but deep within they burned with a desirous fire, and never before that moment had he felt so <em>wanted</em>, so <em>needed</em>, as she stretched her arms up and beckoned to him. There he felt that magnetic pull that lowered him into her embrace, felt her lithe arms wrap around his shoulders and neck, and he was drawn down to her lips.</p><p>Hot, breathy kisses that made him tremble, that made his toes curl hard, that made him undulate gently against her. His hands touched the sides of her neck, traced the hand-woven band of her necklace, the graceful line of her collarbone under his thumbs, and then one hand cupped her breast. <em>Oh god</em>, it was even more magnificent when it was naked beneath his palm. He rolled her perky little nipple beneath his thumb, and she arched beneath him and gasped against his lips, “<em>Mahad.</em>”</p><p><em>Oh god, oh god</em>, she was going to be the death of him.</p><p>There was nothing but bare skin beneath him, bare skin that was hot and writhing and <em>begging</em> for his touch, and touch he did, her waist, her hips, skimming her back, to her outer thighs and down to under her knees and then back up along the inside, and he shifted himself just to the side – straddled one of her legs, so that he had the perfect angle of his wrist to touch her where she’d been pleasuring herself just moments before.</p><p>She gasped and moaned in his ear, and he felt arousal punch him in the gut when he felt how <em>hot, </em>how <em>wet</em> she was down there. Just like she had shown him, he used the pad of his middle finger to draw a broad circle, and he felt her body tense and curl under him. “Atem,” he whispered against her cheek. She was still clinging to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders, and he relished in the sensation of her trembling at his slightest touch.</p><p>She’d shown him those broad, slow circles, but her hips were canting up, begging for <em>more</em>, more than just that, so he tightened the movement and pressed the slightest bit harder on her slick skin.</p><p>She mewled, airy and vulnerable, and he immediately stilled, worried he had done too much, but she turned her face against his, nuzzled him, and whimpered his name and the word <em>‘more’</em> in a delirious chant that made heat crawl up his spine and into his brain stem. God, he was sweating under his shirt, he felt so damn hot. So, he ground the length of his finger against her, and she bucked and choked, fingers curling like talons into him, and he hissed in pained pleasure, his hips nudging forward against her thigh.</p><p>He was still fully clothed, and he was dumbfounded by that fact once again, and<em>, once again</em>, he could not bring himself to move away to even strip his shirt from his overheated body. Not if it meant stopping these sweet sounds she was making for him, this panting and mewling and her jaw dropping on choked breaths. He was barely touching her, and it was making her writhe like this. She was getting slicker where he was touching her, and it made his mouth dry, made him pant and thrust gently against her.</p><p>“G-Good,” she whimpered, “Y-You’re good. <em>Mahad</em>, M-Mahad.”</p><p>“I’m only doing what you showed me, Princess,” he whispered, that nickname from long ago falling from his lips so easily.</p><p>She made a noise low in her throat, some sort of disagreement, but she couldn’t voice much more than that before she was burying her face in his neck and mewling again.</p><p><em>Jesus</em>, he really couldn’t get over how wet she was, how it felt under his fingers as he touched her just the way she showed him – though he did admittedly put some more variation to it – and he licked his lips, squeezed his eyes shut.</p><p>He wanted to taste her. Dear god, he’d <em>dreamt</em> about tasting her, and now here she was, so close, right at his fingertips. His cheeks burned, he pulled back (much to her displeasure), and the words just tumbled from his lips, “I want to… I…” he gulped, even as her fingers tugged at his shirt desperately. “Can I…”</p><p>“<em>What?</em>” she mewled, bucking and writhing and trying to get him to touch her again.</p><p>And he steeled himself, though his face felt like it was about to spontaneously combust, “C-Can I use my mouth?”</p><p>And she completely froze against him, before she was arching her neck to meet his gaze. Her eyes were so wide, her pupils blown until nothing but a violet halo of her irises remained, and she blinked owlishly at him. “Y-You don’t have to –”</p><p>“I know,” he gushed, “I know, and I <em>want</em> to, god, I want to, Atem.” She was still staring at him, her eyes tracing his face, and he looked away hastily, “U-Unless <em>you</em> don’t, then – then this is fine –”</p><p>“If you w-want to, Mahad,” she whispered, cupping his cheek and turning his head toward her again. “And if you don’t like it, we can just go back to –” She gave a pointed look to his hand.</p><p>“I don’t think that will be a problem,” he murmured, low and husky, cheeks so hot.</p><p>She smiled, breathless and quivering, and tugged him down for another kiss. Mahad <em>loved</em> kissing her, and it seemed like the sentiment was wholeheartedly reciprocated. Lips soft and hot and her breath puffing gently against his face. And he parted, but his lips still ached for her, so he kissed down her jaw, along her neck, and he mouthed and swiped his tongue like she had done to him because it had felt so good when he was on the receiving end of those.</p><p>He paused a moment to suck on her clavicle – it was so <em>lovely</em>, so pretty, it drove him mad knowing it had yet to be thoroughly worshiped by him. Her hands were in his hair now, tangled in the long strands, and each of her tugs made a broken whimper rise from low in his throat.</p><p>He whispered her name against her skin, and then migrated lower, his lips fluttering against her flesh. Over the upper slope of her breast, his thumb brushing the gentle, soft curve of the underside, and he gazed up at her.</p><p>Her half-lidded eyes were affixed on him.</p><p>“Can I…?” he asked lowly.</p><p>Her fingers kneaded his scalp. “<em>Please</em>.”</p><p>First, a tentative, affectionate kiss, but then mouthing, rubbing his lips against her in a way he hoped she enjoyed. Her nipple remained firm against him, and she was panting, and her breath was catching, but she whimpered, “T-Tongue…” and he complied, licking her, and she mewled breathily. He rolled his tongue over her in a similar way as his thumb had done not so long ago, and she gasped, <em>“M-Mahad”</em> and he had to squeeze his eyes shut. Then, a lewd swirl, like how he would touch his own nipples – though with his fingers, but he was sure the same principles applied – and she cried out, soft and vulnerable.</p><p>That dusky flesh was glistening when he was done with it, and the sight made him throb. But he moved to the other, giving it the same treatment, and her fingers twisted hard in his hair. He jolted, gasped around her nipple.</p><p>“S-Sorry,” she croaked.</p><p>His breaths came fast and hard against her skin. “I-It’s okay. I… I liked it.”</p><p>She chuckled at him, but it was cut off by her quivering exhale when he sucked at her gently.</p><p>He knew he could kiss and lick and suck her like that all day if he had the chance, but he felt her shifting and writhing under him and knew she needed a touch where she was most sensitive. So, he moved down, his hands skimming along her waist, to her hips, to her thighs that were spreading invitingly for him. He was kneeling and hunched awkwardly; the bed was already small, and how his long body was positioned halfway down it wasn’t helping any.</p><p>“…This isn’t going to work,” he murmured, sitting up to look at her.</p><p>Her tone was understanding, but obvious disappointment flashed behind her eyes. “That’s okay, we can go back to –”</p><p>He laughed softly.  “No, Atem, I mean this position. The bed is too small.”</p><p>“Oh.” She propped herself up on her elbows and surveyed the situation. “No, the bed is perfectly adequate. It’s your body that’s too tall,” she quipped, nudging his clothed thigh playfully with her slender foot. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, and – I think we’re both too inexperienced to try…” she trailed off, her already flushed cheeks reddening even more. “So, we can just go back to what we were doing before…”</p><p>He set a hand on the pillow by her head, leaned over her. “I don’t think you understand just <em>how much</em> I want this, Princess,” he breathed, and though his cheeks were hot, he let the words come out. God, when was he going to get this chance again?</p><p>She stared up at him, blinking widely again. “H-How… how much?”</p><p>“I have literal dreams about tasting you, Atem. I…” he huffed, shame pawing at his cheeks. “I daydream about it when I should be doing my research, or when I should be doing my work.” He gulped, kept his eyes locked on hers. “Let me have this.”</p><p>“O-Okay,” she whispered back.</p><p>He leaned down to press a kiss to her swollen lips, and then he sat up again. He surveyed the bed, her body, and the floor beside the bed. “Your torso is just short enough that you could lay on the bed sideways, and I could kneel on the floor.”</p><p>“But your knees –” she began.</p><p>“You have a soft rug, and I could use a pillow, too,” he murmured.</p><p>“That… that should work,” she replied.</p><p>“Wonderful,” he croaked, mostly to himself, and retracted himself off the bed. He heard her shuffling on the bed, and, in the meantime, quickly stripped himself of his shirt. It was stuck to his back with his sweat, but he managed to peel it off and shivered when he was exposed to the relatively cool air.</p><p>“M-Mahad,” came the whimper, and he looked back down. Atem had shifted, her head and shoulders propped on a pillow set against the wall, her feet on the floor and her thighs spread for him, another pillow already set on the floor waiting for him. It was so dirty and sinful and sensual, seeing her naked body posed like that, especially when he knew what they were about to do – what <em>he</em> was about to do. And she was looking at him, staring at his half-naked form, and he was embarrassed but preened under the attention (he liked knowing he was as visually pleasing to her as she was to him). He stepped forward and sank to his knees, his hands on her thighs to spread them wider, for which she obliged eagerly.</p><p>He blinked slowly down at her. Realistically, he <em>knew</em> he’d already touched her down there, already had his fingers twirling and dancing in her wetness, but… his breath heaved from his lungs.</p><p>“I think…” Atem began, and her voice cracked, so she cleared her throat and started over again. “I think I should put my legs on your shoulders.”</p><p>“Th-that would help,” he agreed, and he gently grabbed her calves and slung her legs over his shoulders, and then she was so much closer; she was all he could see, all he could <em>smell</em> (and it was still foreign but something in him was <em>reacting to it</em>, something instinctive and primal that <em>knew</em> what that scent meant), and he turned his head to whimper against the hot flesh of her inner thigh. “<em>Atem</em>…”</p><p>And he kissed up her thigh, mouthing and flicking his tongue and feeling muscles and tendons jump beneath his touch. As he got closer, her skin got hotter, and it wasn’t long before he was <em>there</em>, and he pushed through his inexperienced trepidation to press a tender kiss to her flesh. Hot, wet against his lips, and she arched, her breath hitching and one hand sinking into his hair. Then his tongue flicking out, brushing, and her taste blossomed on his tongue. Alien, unlike anything he had ever experienced, but not unpleasant.</p><p>“Mahad,” she whimpered. “I <em>n-need</em> it.”</p><p>Yes, he couldn’t tease her – she’d done that to herself enough.</p><p>So he pressed and swirled his tongue in circles on that sensitive flesh. She cried out, his name stuttering on her lips, her body arching wildly, and he had to grip her hips to stabilize her. He didn’t bother with those broad swipes, and instead rolled his tongue feverishly around that spot that made her mewl and scrape her nails so deliciously on his scalp. Hard, fast, though he hoped he could do this again and take his time, but she was loving it. Panting, moaning, crying. If her neighbors didn’t know what they were doing before, they certainly did now, and the thought made Mahad’s cheeks heat ever more.</p><p>“<em>Mahad</em>,” she gasped, yanking at his hair and making him moan and lurch (one hand whipping down to squeeze himself hard because he was <em>so close</em> to spilling it all inside his pants). “Gonna come, gonna come, yes, yes, <em>yes</em>,” she chanted, and he renewed his efforts. He could <em>feel</em> her tremble under his tongue – it was so erotic – and her heels were digging into his back and making him crazy. And then she was arching, tension trembling in her, and she was silent, but then she was panting and bucking, each exhale ending on a ragged mewl, and her wetness flooded against his tongue. Eagerly, he lapped her up, heard her broken whimpers of his name, felt her hand twist in his hair.</p><p>“<em>Sensitive</em>,” she gasped, bucking away from his tongue. His hands trembled as he pulled her off from his shoulders; his knees shook as he stood and maneuvered her panting, shivering form into a more comfortable position on the mattress. Her quivering hands were weakly clawing at his arms, and she whimpered his name so sweetly, “<em>Mahad.</em>” So he balanced himself, half-kneeling on the mattress and poised over her, and lowered himself into her embrace. Self-conscious, he tucked his face away from hers, but her shaky fingers caught at his cheeks and then her lips were on his. Her kisses were sloppy and breathy, but he basked in them all the same, shyly licking back when her tongue rolled against his bottom lip. “That was so good,” she whispered, petting his face and his neck and his chest.</p><p>Her hands were small and delicate and hot, and the sensations they wrought within him as they stroked his bare skin were just as overwhelming as he thought they would be. He ducked low, teeth gritting, everything in him steeling against the orgasm that loomed every closer on the horizon.</p><p>“Mahad?” she asked, and when he shook his head, her “oh” came on a breathy huff.</p><p>She gently pushed him up and back until he was kneeling on the mattress, and she leaned between his trembling thighs to trace her finger on the button of his jeans. He felt her breath on his chest as she tilted her head up and whispered, “I could… return the favor, you know?”</p><p>His laugh was overwhelmed and strained. “The <em>instant</em> you get your hands on me, I am going to come,” he croaked.</p><p>“That’s okay.” And he felt his jeans loosen considerably when she deftly popped the button.</p><p>“It’s going to make a mess,” he continued, amazed he could even formulate sentences at this point.</p><p>“The best things in life make messes,” Atem sang, and his hips bucked at the slightest amount of pressure created when she slid his zipper down. “So, I don’t mind if you get me messy,” she added, breathy as she tugged his pants down.</p><p>“Atem,” he choked out, snatching her wrist when she reached to touch him through his underwear. “Briefs off first,” he gasped. “<em>That</em> is a mess neither of us will want to deal with.”</p><p>Her breathed stuttered, and she stared up at him with those beautiful wide eyes. “You really think it’ll happen that fast?”</p><p>“<em>Atem</em>, it’s nearly happened too many times to count already,” he gritted, strained.</p><p>She moaned, kissed his chest – her lips were so soft against his skin – and gently tugged his underwear down to his thighs. He averted his eyes when she pulled back to look down at him – red and hot and ready to <em>burst</em>.</p><p>Her exhale shuddered out against his torso, and he shivered. “I should… I should probably use the lube, shouldn’t I?” He looked back down when she shifted, and she had the bottle in her hand and propped it on her thigh to pump it on her other palm. She folded her fingers against her palm and slowly dragged them up to wet her whole hand – it was a well-thought-out move; it only dirtied one of her hands. And then she was looking back up at him, eyes bright and violet and filled with yearning. “Show me, Mahad?” she whispered. “How to touch you, I mean.”</p><p>His heart was a tangled mess in his throat. He nodded, and his shaking hand touched her own, and he guided it down to him. The lubricant had already warmed up in her hot hand, and he gasped and bucked as he wrapped her fingers around him.</p><p>“F-Firm, but not – n-not too tight,” he choked out on heaving breaths. “Th-Then –” and he moved their combined hands, up, and his hips – of their own accord – punched back forward through the grip of their fingers. Her hand and fingers were so <em>small</em> and <em>delicate</em> and <em>soft</em>.</p><p>
  <em>This was Atem touching him.</em>
</p><p>When their hands moved back up, it was <em>Atem</em> guiding them, and they had barely reached the top before he was bucking again. The slick noise it made filled the air, and he panted hotly, shuddering, thighs trembling.</p><p>“It’s… so hot,” she breathed, stroking up, and Mahad’s hand fell away from her wrist to fist into the bedding. “It… I… I like it.”</p><p>He moaned brokenly.</p><p>“Can I… go faster?”</p><p>He bit his lip, squeezed his eyes shut, and nodded.</p><p>And faster she went, just a little bit, but it was enough to make everything in him seize and tremble. Those slick noises, her hot hand – up, down, up, down, over and over. God, he thought he would have exploded as soon as she touched him, but it was intense, <em>too</em> intense after the barest amount of stimulation thus far.</p><p>“Mahad,” she called, leaning up, and he felt her breath on his neck. “Look at me. Wanna watch you come, baby.”</p><p>And he had to <em>force</em> his eyes open but it was worth it, worth it to see her peering adoringly up at him – to watch her <em>touch</em> him, and his lips parted and he was curling forward, his breath leaving him in a grunt that punched right from his chest, and his hips stuttered weakly. <em>God, </em>it was so fucking good, washing over him, stronger and hotter than ever. Atem arched up and pressed her lips to his, but she pulled back as his mouth opened wide on a nearly snarled silent scream as he came.</p><p>He felt it, hot and sticky on his stomach and on her hand, and she slowed down, gently stroking him through it, and she whispered against his jaw, “That was so good. I love touching you so much, Mahad. You deserve to feel <em>so</em> good.”</p><p>Panting, he turned his head, gave her short, breathy kisses on her chin and her lips and everywhere he could reach.</p><p>“Atem,” he sighed, nuzzling her, her cheek and her neck and her shoulder, and he pressed fluttering kisses to each.</p><p>Her fingers dropped from him, and the back of her hand rested on his thigh. She chuckled, kissed his ear. “We really did make a mess, didn’t we?”</p><p>“I warned you,” he mumbled.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Welp, there you have it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Come Crashing (Puzzleshipping, Fem!Yugi)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rated M -- proposed rating if I were to ever finish and post this.</p><p>When Yugi's boss assigns her a new partner -- a transfer from a distant branch of the company, she does not expect to meet the man of her dreams. Nor does she expect to meet his beautiful wife. <br/>Or where Yugi's beautiful, loving heart finally brings pain and trouble to her life.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ah, I had thought to once again genderbend Yugi and put her through emotional torture. While the end-goal here is Puzzleshipping, along the way we feature some past Klepto/Boundshipping, and failed Regalshipping, and some background Puffshipping.</p><p>I don't know why I didn't finish this one -- I think I set it aside to focus on my other WIPs and forgot about it. Eh, maybe I'll finish it some day.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Yugi's pen was propped against her lips. The end was just barely poking between her lips, and her teeth carefully scraped around the edges. Not chewing, just brushing the serrations of her incisors on it. She scrolled the computer screen with her other hand. The white-blue light reflected glassily off her purple irises and the lenses of her glasses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighed, a breath hissed through her teeth and around the end of her pen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This code was a mess. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What the hell…" she muttered. Then launched the program. The horrible gritty quality was legitimate torture to her eyes. Few of the processes were working correctly, and the ones that were were so convoluted that they made her rub her forehead to stave off a migraine. She quickly closed the screen and opened the code again. She stared at it. But she couldn't imagine where to start. It was like taking a pair of garden shears to the Amazon rainforest. She sincerely doubted her ability to tame it. At least on her own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Tea's dancing career finally started taking off, she was quick to drop what she considered to be a grueling office job. Grueling or no, Tea was good at crunching through code, and Yugi simply didn't know where to start on this botched program she was assigned to fix up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were other times when Yugi missed her former partner more, but she definitely missed her a lot right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She opened the attached electronic notepad.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Who the </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> coded this?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Hopefully, her rare use of profanity would get the point across.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The program was total shit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rhythmically tapped her pen on her desk, and, in the instrument's absence, her teeth set to gnawing on her bottom lip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She moved her keyboard aside and pressed her forehead to her desk. Her glasses mushed uncomfortably against her face, but she could only bring herself to groan against the fake wood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not all hope was lost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighed, and she could see her breath fog up the surface of her desk. She sat back up and opened her email to look through the thread.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He'd contacted her ahead of time. Atem Sennen. Her new project partner. Transfer from another branch. He'd wanted to get to know her a little better and establish rapport before they began working together in person. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blinked at his emails. He seemed nice. Really polite and motivated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She closed her email and ran a hand through her hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The code bloomed back up on the screen, and she groaned, flopped back into her chair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryou poked his head into her office. Only one half was occupied. "Hey, Yugi. The meeting's coming up. You can procrastinate later."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yugi lolled her head and pouted at him. "'M'not procrastinating."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryou's eyebrows shot up for a brief, dramatic moment, and he smacked his lips sarcastically. "Sure."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her jaw dropped open in mock offense. "Ye of little faith, Ryou. Your words sting me." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Save the melodramatics, Yugi," he said, stifling a chuckle behind a pale slender hand. "We have a meeting to attend. And you have a partner to meet."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her smile blossomed. "That's true. I do, don't I?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you excited?" Ryou walked in, propped a narrow hip on her desk and gestured with a limp wrist to the empty half of the office. "I know you've been lonely since Tea left."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sat forward and leaned her elbows on her desk. She set her chin on her threaded fingers. "You know what? I really am. We've been exchanging emails and he seems like a pretty cool guy. Laid back, but funny. His work seems pretty good, too."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryou waggled pale brows. "Maybe he's single?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yugi snorted at him. "A workplace romance would be highly inappropriate. As my boss, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>shouldn't be promoting it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryou sighed. "You're right. Maybe I'm just a sucker for cliches." He looked over his shoulder, then looked back in with a conspiratorial hunch to his shoulders. "But, as your friend, I do say that it wouldn't hurt you to get back out there and </span>
  <em>
    <span>get some</span>
  </em>
  <span>, y'know?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blew her blonde bangs out of her face. "That's rich, coming from you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryou'd been a loner much like her before Yugi introduced him to her best friend, Joey. That was well over two years ago, and the two were still going strong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryou only laughed. "Well, we should probably get going."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yugi dragged herself from her chair. "Yeah, yeah, yeah." Yugi closed her door behind her, and the pair walked down the hallway. "By the way, who the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>designed that program?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryou's head kicked back again, his long white hair swishing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yugi glared at him. "Was it </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No," Ryou said, giggling. "No, it wasn't me. Underwood was designing it before he quit and changed companies. It wouldn't surprise me if he sabotaged it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yugi snorted. "Why can't I just scrap it and start it from scratch?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryou shrugged. "Direct orders from Pegasus. You've gotta use what you have. Probably one of his silly tests again."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, his last 'silly test' resulted in a three dollar raise on my part," Yugi chirped, suddenly chipper about the situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryou nudged her shoulder with his own. "Maybe you'll get promoted?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yugi stuck her tongue out at him. "Then you wouldn't be my boss anymore."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryou snapped his fingers. "Damn. Then I wouldn't be able to keep you under my thumb and make you absolutely miserable anymore."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, because you are </span>
  <em>
    <span>such</span>
  </em>
  <span> a tyrant,” Yugi replied with an eye roll. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, she ends up meeting Atem, who is charming and funny and handsome, and she tries her hardest not to fall in love with him but FAILS MISERABLY. Unbeknownst her her, Atem is having the same problem, only his is much worse because he is married to Mai. Yugi ends up meeting Mai and it just kind of slams the idea home that Atem is way out of her league -- he's got a bombshell blonde for a wife. What she doesn't know is that they have been having marital problems for some time, culminating in Mai confessing to Atem that she has cheated on him. </p><p>Atem is understandably PISSED and hurt, because even though he may have fallen in love with another woman, he still wanted to try to forget it and make his marriage work. So, hysterical, he goes to Yugi's apartment where -- in his emotional infirmity -- confesses to her and kisses her. Yugi pushes him away (as much as it hurts her to do so)-- she doesn't want to be another reason that his marriage fails when there's the small glimmer of hope that they could fix it -- but lets him stay and sleep on her couch for the night. </p><p>Atem and Mai do get a divorce, and Atem ends up getting a job at a different company so that he can get over the divorce (since he still loved Mai, even if he wasn't <em>in love</em> with her) and also to give Yugi space. Six months later, he returns and shyly asks Yugi out on a date. THE END</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Beastmen Drabbles (no ships)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rated T -- rating if I were to ever post these.</p><p>Just a small collection of drabbles where various YGO characters are reimagined as various mythical beastmen.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I was going to post a collection of these but for some reason decided against it (I don't remember why). Anyways, enjoy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Icthyocentaur (half-man, half-waterhorse): Atem</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Mako saw him on a foggy morn as he pulled away from the harbor. He saw the silhouette, what looked to be a spiky-haired man perched on a rock, the waves lapping at its base. Then he moved closer, and he saw exactly what it was. What he thought had been wild hair was actually a crest of spiky fins, dark red and gold and shimmering in even the gray of the mist. Long legs, equine in nature but ruby red with a golden sheen and flaring fins at the joints, crossed primly in front of him from below the hips. A thick, serpentine scaled tail rested behind him. Dorsal fins raised with each breath. A glimmering fluke twitched and curled where it was splayed over the brine-crusted rocks. A scaled, humanoid hand held a staff, the butt pressed to the rock, the tip in the air, topped with staghorn coral and the opalescent shells of mollusks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mako held his breath, stayed low in the tiny sailboat as he slid by, yards away. Magenta eyes stared with nobility. The bronzed, red-and-gold-tinted chest expanded gently with each breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mako was spotted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the beast remained calm, fluke curling. The equine legs flexed slightly, joint fins unfurling before curling tight, and, with what seemed like the smallest push, the beast was slipping over ocean-smooth rock to dive into the water. The metallic fluke flicked, salty water splashed up, and then nothing was visible beneath the dark water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mako stood, looked all around. There was no sign of the creature.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sat heavily on the wooden bench seat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one was going to believe him when he told them about this.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Faun (Half-goat, half-man, the shy woodland version): Ryou</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Moonlight filtered into the clearing and washed everything into a pearly silver. In the argent light danced a lone figure. Cloven hooves trotted with utmost grace as they flitted among the dew-slick ferns. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Long, pale hair swayed like a flame in the forest night. Small horns curved back over the wild, silky strands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haunting notes twisted on the air, summoned by pursed lips upon the mouthpiece of a wooden flute. The crickets and night creatures trilled softly their harmonic accompaniment. All around the clearing, animal eyes peered through softly fluttering leaves. The woodland beings were completely enraptured by the soothing melody. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A twig snapped somewhere amongst the brambles, and the musician stopped, crouched and poised for escape. Long conical ears stood at attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small breath echoed, entirely human -- an intruder, uninvited eyes -- from the woods, and the musician was gone, a flicking white tail in the night.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Harpy (Half-woman, half-bird): Who else but Mai</b>
</p><p>
  <span>She was perched high on the cliffs and obscured by a sparsely-leaved tree. Her golden plumage camouflaged her to the hot yellow rocks of the canyon. Sharp purple eyes watched with interest, and her crest, long like hair, raised and ruffled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her talons, black and neat, well-taken-care-of, clicked and rasped on the rock as she hunkered lower, pressed her chest close. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The object of her interest, down in the bowels of the canyon, moved closer. It faltered on a rock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A song-like cry from across the ridge, and she launched herself, the foreclaws on her wings pushing off of the cliff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wings tucked close, she dove down, down, down, and then her wings snapped open, talons extended forward. Her sisters closed in on all sides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A flurry of claws and multi-colored plumage, and they brought their prey down.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Lamia (half-snake, NORMALLY half-woman, but I claim artistic license on going against the norm for this drabble): Yami Bakura</b>
</p><p>
  <span>No hunter dare step here, but Atem slung his bow over his shoulder and pressed on anyway. Fog and mist hovered above the ground, wreathed the forest like gossamer. The ground was wet and marshy, and Atem's sandaled feet were sucked down with each step. He grimaced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something in the white mist shifted, and Atem crouched lower, hand poised on the mossy trunk of a grotesque tree.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reached for an arrow in his quiver, readied his bow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But all was silent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem blinked, glanced about. The fog was thickening, and the sheer moisture in the air formed little droplets on his bronzed skin. But he pressed forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hiss, reptilian, from behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem whirled, arrow knocked, his body crouched low to the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, he saw nothing but the wispy blanket of mist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A branch groaned to the left, and Atem adjusted his stance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A purring chuckle, straight from above. Atem pointed his bow accordingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Long white hair dangled from a tree like moss. The creature had the torso of a human, though plated with waxy white scales. The hips were narrow and faded into a thick, serpentine tail. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem dared to glance around, and now, through the mist, he saw the white coils all about, stretching from branch to branch, weaving through the trees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The beast was enormous, utterly monstrous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A branch groaned under the weight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"A little prince like you shouldn't be in a place like this." The voice was sibilant and inhuman. Behind lips that just barely moved, fangs flashed.  Eyes, dark and slitted, stared unblinking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem said nothing, only held his position, though his arms were straining. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both moved at the same time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem let his arrow fly, but the beast had already weaved out of the way to strike.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem threw himself back, and fangs snapped mere inches from his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The creature didn't have much range; his extensive coils required more care to move than what the situation provided.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he spat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem barely rolled out of the way, and the sizzling glob hit the ground where he had just been. The soggy grass wilted and dissolved where the venom had touched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem sprang to his feet and sprinted back the way he came. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn't prepared to face such a beast.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Satyr (Half-man, half-goat, of the drunken, sex-obsessed variety): Duke </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fun fact: Satyrs were said to have perpetual erections. The more you know, I guess</span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>The nymphs squealed, dashed away as he loped through the undergrowth. Brilliant green eyes with elliptical pupils glimmered with mischief and alcohol. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His cloven hooves clomped through and flattened the grass. He ducked beneath some branches, and the large horns curling from his head nearly clipped them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A nymph darted behind him to touch his long, glossy black hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He whirled, blunt teeth bared in a playful grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She dashed away into the bracken with a  giggle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ah, ladies, all I want is to share a drink!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The trees themselves laughed. "As if!"</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I had others planned but unwritten.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Freak On A Leash (Antagoshipping, Fem!Bakura)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rated E -- Proposed rating if I were to ever finish this.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sooo I wanted to write Antagoshipping, and I wanted to write the stripper!/exotic dancer!trope, and I wanted to genderbend Bakura again, so HERE WE ARE. This story would definitely be a little grungier than my normal stock, and it would stray into Femdom BDSM, too, because I really want to play around with the idea of a submissive Seto and dominant Bakura. Last but not least, this is pretty experimental on my part, and, if you find something that doesn't quite jive, let me know. I really want to continue this and make a multi-chapter fic out of it. (I probably will after I finish up some of my current WIPs, because I really LOVE this idea).</p><p>I do want to warn you guys -- this contains drug use by characters (though only OCs, no YGO character is depicted using drugs).</p><p>Also, if you don't think Bakura would dance to some edgy fucking music as a stripper, we'll have to agree to disagree.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Kaiba shifted back in his seat, arms crossed loosely over his chest. A tension headache curled at his brain stem and clawed its way under his skull. His lip twitched. What a bunch of fucking imbeciles. His limo had never been so loud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Imbibing his champagne and filling his vehicle with their raucous revelry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another lip twitch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d long since reined in his bad habit of angry emotional outbursts, but they were threatening to resurrect old instincts better left dead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, he could admit this -- it was his list of poor choices that led him to where he was now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d entertained their piss-poor idea at an alliance for simply that; </span>
  <em>
    <span>entertainment</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It had been so amusing to see their plans laid out before him -- idyllic and naive, like child dreamers, but not in the admirable way. In the annoying way, but Kaiba allowed himself the delight of his contempt for them. Easy enough it was at the time. But, up far too close and far too personal, the joke was over and Kaiba didn’t feel like laughing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he didn’t back out of anything, least of all a business deal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of the men crowed ecstatically about something -- something that Kaiba hadn’t paid the least bit of attention to, and Kaiba rolled his eyes. And now they wanted to celebrate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which Kaiba didn’t do. At least, he didn’t do it with strangers, and he certainly didn’t do it with other businessmen. (But he knew Mokuba would never let him hear the end of it -- “Seto, you need to get out more” -- “Seto, you need to relax” -- “Seto, you need to have more of a social life” -- “Seto, you’ll be gray before thirty at this rate” [though he had already found two gray hairs that he’d immediately plucked, and dared not speak of their existence] -- “Seto this” and “Seto that” and he was too goddamn tired of it.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So here he was, at the mention of a “club” -- and he’d been expecting something a little… classier, but when Troyman told Roland the address, Roland had stared Kaiba straight in the eye and though his face had been as blank as ever, Kaiba could sense Roland’s hesitation even before the man utter, “Are you sure, Mr. Kaiba?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And though something in Kaiba froze in place, he’d inclined his chin anyways. He was not about to back down, not in front of these dolts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-- Though his fingers itched to pull out his fingers and look up this so-called club --</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, their behavior only further fueled his suspicions and mounting unease. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glared over at them at another whoop, and that unease reached a fever pitch at what he saw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A little bag.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A little bag filled with white powder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And they acted like he wasn’t even there, as if they weren’t in a vehicle </span>
  <em>
    <span>he fucking owned</span>
  </em>
  <span> as they whipped out </span>
  <em>
    <span>cocaine</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Cocaine</em>
  </b>
  <b>.</b>
</p><p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>people used it -- especially the elite -- but he’d never fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen it</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>in person</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That tense unease and his contempt -- so powerful it was gaining sentience in his mind -- mixed into a vindictive concoction that brought only one thought to mind…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was going to fucking ruin them. He might not let himself have angry outbursts anymore, but there was no way he could abstain himself from this: cold, cruel revenge and utter takeover of their meager ‘corporation.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was always better to “cut out the middle man,” anyways. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that distinctive sound -- TV had gotten </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>right -- and Troyman was grinning ferally at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want some?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Seto Kaiba rarely let himself drink alcohol, and this man had the audacity to ask him if he wanted some </span>
  <em>
    <span>cocaine.</span>
  </em>
  <span>)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kaiba grunted a negative, and the man’s face fell into something indignant, dark. Kaiba’s eyes narrowed, and Troyman went back to snorting it up through rolled up paper. The others glared at him for that moment, with their beady, constricted pupils. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, he’d denied some sort of symbolic offering as well as a physical one. A faux pas he never thought he would have to commit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their frenetic energy only increased, and he watched with a disturbed sense of intrigue as Hicks howled to the sun roof after what seemed to be a particularly strong hit. The others laughed and nudged one another. It all made him wonder how fucked up they were before they even had their meeting with him today. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kaiba mentally noted to have this car scrubbed from engine to trunk after tonight. He didn’t want any lingering particulates. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared out the window, watched the city lights streak by in the night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And they pulled into a parking lot, and the neon sign glowed so brightly he saw multi-colored imprints of it on the back of his eyelids. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Cave</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His lip twitched, his fingers tightening the slightest bit against his arms. Though the cab was mostly soundproof, he could feel the music thumping out like the heartbeat of a monstrous beast and reverberating right into his bones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A dance club he figured, until Acosta bellowed, “Hope you brought your ones, boys!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kaiba’s jaw clenched and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>barely</span>
  </em>
  <span> resisted the urge to thump his fist on his seat or a window or </span>
  <em>
    <span>right on Troyman’s adams apple. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A fucking strip club. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They were at a fucking strip club!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>should’ve Googled the goddamn address before he enabled this utter fucking lunacy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His last experience was so absolutely abhorrent -- too much tasteless music, too much </span>
  <em>
    <span>touching</span>
  </em>
  <span> (he’d practically shoved the woman off when she had tried to give him a lapdance), and the dancers were </span>
  <em>
    <span>simpering</span>
  </em>
  <span> and gratingly </span>
  <em>
    <span>submissive</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was all so irritating especially because he knew it was all an </span>
  <em>
    <span>act</span>
  </em>
  <span> -- they wanted his money because they </span>
  <em>
    <span>recognized him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and it never irritated Kaiba more than to have leeches in such close proximity to him. He had enough woman that threw themselves at him -- why would he </span>
  <em>
    <span>pay</span>
  </em>
  <span> someone to do it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the door opened and The Three Stooges stumbled all over each other to get out and the pounding bass was audible, Kaiba shook his head and resignedly followed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, it made sense -- no woman would want to touch these three men with even a fifty-foot pole unless money was involved somehow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gave a single glance back to Roland, and they shared a nod. Kaiba would message him when he wanted to get the fuck out of this place. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay, so Bakura hasn't been introduced yet, but Seto is in that club all grumpy and NOT HAVING A GOOD TIME when she shows up and dances like an animal on that stage to some grungy metal song (definitely Korn or something along those lines). Well, long story short, Seto ends up getting a lap dance and finds out he very much likes it when she pins his hands down, and things snowball from there. </p><p>This would, of course, feature safe, sane, and consensual BDSM. I'm really tired of authors portraying BDSM in a harsh, unhealthy light, because... ah, I could write an essay on it but I'll digress. For now...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Black Velvet (Prideshipping version, Fem!Seto)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rated E -- proposed rating if I were to ever finish this</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Uh, I think I mentioned in the Dragonshipping version of 'Black Velvet' about how I almost used this idea for Prideshipping with Fem!Seto. It was my first time attempting to write Fem!Seto, but I didn't like how this was turning out already (it felt pretty cringy to me), but I supposed, over all, it wouldn't hurt to let you guys see what I was dabbling with. I ended up scrapping this and writing <a href="/works/22687798/chapters/54227620">What If We Could</a> instead, the results of which I am very pleased with. </p><p>This version would have been minus the sexy pen pals stuff and plus the sexually-frustrated Seto stuff</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” her voice rang out sharply in the silence of her office. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to a rock concert,” Mokuba repeated, not the least bit cowed by her tone. “Well, know that I think about it, I’m not sure if it’s defined as ‘rock’ or not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rubbed a hand over her face, the other white-knuckled on her cellphone. “Are you now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seta, I love you, but I think I’m grown-up enough now to make these kinds of decisions for myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She scoffed. “You’re seventeen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly. I’m basically an adult.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Basically</span>
  </em>
  <span> an adult,” she said with a disbelieving chuckle. “Okay, I’ll bite. When, where, and for whom is this concert?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s next Saturday, at the amphitheater in Domino --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Next Saturday?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Are you expecting me to believe that you just recently acquired these tickets?” Her slender fingers thrummed impatiently on the desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, no. But I waited to tell you because then you’d have less time to talk me out of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her lip twitched, half-annoyed, half-amused. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Little brat.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Anyways</span>
  </em>
  <span>, as I was saying before you so </span>
  <em>
    <span>rudely</span>
  </em>
  <span> interrupted me -- the band is Shadow Games,” Mokuba continued. “Kinda rock-ish, kinda pop-ish.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seta frowned, dragging her tablet closer. The band didn’t sound familiar -- and she thought she was pretty in-touch with Mokuba’s taste in music. “I don’t think I’ve heard of them. Have you recently discovered their music?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sheepish chuckle. “Ah, no. They’re my girlfriend’s favorite band.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hn. I see,” she murmured, typing into the search browser. “It seems I can’t stop you from going if your mind is already set on it.” Mokuba could be a crafty little bastard when he applied himself, so she was certain he would find a way to go even if she forbid him, anyway. And, she also supposed that going to a concert was something many normal teenagers got to enjoy -- and she wanted Mokuba to have as normal as a childhood as she could possibly supply in her position. “Make sure you bring Fuguta. I don’t think I trust such a crowded place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mokuba hissed in triumph, and Seta could </span>
  <em>
    <span>imagine</span>
  </em>
  <span> his excited little fist pump. “Thank you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t bother thanking me. You were going to do it anyway,” she grumbled, and looked back down to her tablet where her search had loaded. “I’ve got to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah. Love you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, too,” she replied, soft, and listened as he hung up and the phone beeped to signal the dropped call.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One day he was hiding behind her legs in public, and the next he was off being a rebellious teenager and going to rock concerts, it seemed. Where had the time gone?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighed and shook her head, one hand coming up to tug unconsciously at her bangs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She set her phone down and picked up the tablet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shadow Games, considered an alt-rock band by Wikipedia. She grunted. Domino natives. Formed the band while the original members were in high school several years ago, but they weren’t picked up by a record label -- Millennium Records -- until three years ago. She didn’t allow herself the time to absorb the pictures of the members before she was returning to the search results and clicking the first video link she could find.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The video loaded lightning fast -- courtesy of KaibaCorp’s state-of-the-art WiFi connection -- and then they were on the screen -- long black lashes, showcased by a thick but tasteful line of kohl on bronzed skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then electric bass, thrumming and purring, and those lashes snapped up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seta’s heart almost froze in shock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those eyes were piercing red-violet, redder -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>crimson</span>
  </em>
  <span> -- near the pupils. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those have to be contacts,” she muttered to herself, disbelieving even as she watched the pupils contract in response to the sudden increase in lighting. The camera zoomed out on the sudden addition of electric guitars and drums. The wild hair was fitting for a rock star, she thought. The man’s face was elegant yet somehow still so bewitchingly </span>
  <em>
    <span>masculine</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and she thought of a black panther, stalking through shadows and moonlight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His lips, dark and shapely, parted, a flash of pearly teeth and a dark grin. And then those lips moved again, sculpting words and sounds -- and his voice was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>deep </span>
  </em>
  <span>and seductive, as he breathed those first lyrics. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another zoom out, this time to his whole body, clad neck-to-toe in black leather. He was lean but muscular and lithe as he seemed to sway like a cobra to those strumming bass chords. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seta blinked dumbly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> not Mokuba’s type of music. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The music was picking up, rising with fever, just like the singer’s voice was building up from that whisper to a firm, strong, </span>
  <em>
    <span>resonating</span>
  </em>
  <span> chorus. He was growing fierce, a fire blazing in those enchanting eyes, and even with all of that bare ferocity he </span>
  <em>
    <span>oozed</span>
  </em>
  <span> sex appeal from his every pore, from his every motion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No wonder this video had over five million views. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The chorus was angry and reprimanding, the verses so softly sardonic, the words of someone who had had </span>
  <em>
    <span>enough</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the worse part was that the lyrics were catchy and well-crafted -- Seta could already </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> the earworm nestling into the fabric of her consciousness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The camera panned through the rest of the band, the keyboardist and the bassist and the drummer, and Seta took the reprieve to scroll down to the comments. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>ShadowPlayer94: </b>
  <em>
    <span>OMG Yami is so hot I can’t get over it someone send help</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>Jammin_James: </b>
  <em>
    <span>Now THIS is music! This shit’ll be classic next decade, I promise you</span>
  </em>
</p><p><b>Eternal-ShadowDove:</b> <em><span>This whole album just screams hate sex. HNNNrrrr *sweat drop*</span></em></p><p><b>SimonSaysGetALife:</b> <em><span>Here’s a link to their most recent interview -- interviewed by Twitter itself!</span></em></p><p>
  <span>Seta clicked the link. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shadow Games Twitter Q&amp;A</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The five members were lined up on black stools against a white backdrop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A narrator behind the camera. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here we are, fans, strangers, people mindlessly browsing social media! We’ve got the hit band Shadow Games here for our live Q&amp;A, where you lovely Twitter users will be asking the questions. Just use hash-tag </span>
  <em>
    <span>ShadowGamesQ&amp;A </span>
  </em>
  <span>and our moderators will sort through them and hopefully your question will be asked! Let’s get started!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The musicians chuckled and giggled and shifted a bit, all perky and eager to hear the questions from their fans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okaaaay! Our first question is for lead vocalist and rhythm guitarist, Yami.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The singer, with his wild hair and vivid and bronzed skin, leaned forward eagerly, while the blond to his left clapped him on the shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is from user Sarah Douglas! ‘Are your eyes naturally that color?’ Oof, going right for the million dollar question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed, hearty and genuine, pearly white teeth flashing prettily. And then he spoke, and Seta shivered in his seat because his voice was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>deep, so smooth</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like silk or velvet, “Yes, they’re naturally this color.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, next question! This one is for bassist, Mahad, from user CobyCobyVibin, ‘How’d you get so good? Your bass riffs could melt John Entwistle’s face off!’ Whew, high praise right there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mahad, a tall, serious-looking man, leaned forward. “Practice.” He settled back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the band erupted into laughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A girl with dark eyes that still gleamed so bright leaned forward excitedly. “Mahad’s a master musician! He can actually play all of the band’s instruments, and he’s the one who taught me how to play the keyboard!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The narrator laughed, “Ah, but the man himself is humble! Next question, this one directed to the whole band, from user DokiDokiBeats. ‘Who writes your songs?’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can answer that,” Yami said. “Some of the songs are written by Mana here,” he gestured to the lone female, “Some by me, and even some by our manager, Yugi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blond draped an arm over Yami’s shoulder, “Yeah, any of the songs that are even</span>
  <em>
    <span> remotely</span>
  </em>
  <span> upliftin’ are prolly written by Yug’ or Mana. Yam’ here couldn’t write a cheery song if his life depended on it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yami laughed, “I don’t think that’s true, Joey. I’m perfectly capable of cheerfulness.” He playfully wrestled the blond’s arm off him, and the struggle jostled his black button-up shirt -- unbuttoned by two from the collar -- and then there was a flash of clavicle, defined and bronzed, and Seta’s throat went dry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She slammed her thumb on the home button, and the video and the audio disappeared and she was staring at the generic white homescreen. Her heart beat at a rabbit’s pace in her ribcage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The phone on her desk pinged, and then her secretary’s voice was ringing through her office.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miss Kaiba, your one o’clock is here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She closed her eyes, swallowed, and took a deep breath. “Just a moment. I’ll receive them myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Ma’am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rubbed her face. Whatever. It didn’t affect her any.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Hatshipping Scrap (Gameshipping)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rated M -- proposed rating if I had ever finished this. (though it was honestly undecided at the time of being written.)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay, so I have this series called <a href="/series/1600186">Hatshipping</a> where I draw random YGO DM character names from a hat and pair them together. Someone requested Duke Devlin/Ryuuji Otogi, and I drew from the hat Atem/Yami Yugi. Well, I was really struggling at this point in time with writer's block, and I was trying just about any story idea I could to try to get the ball rolling. I tried this idea, a Star Trek-esque AU. It didn't end up working out and I settled on another idea for this pairing, but I figured I would share what I had with you guys since it isn't <em>terrible</em> or anything.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The tapping of his foot echoed in the room, off the gleaming, sterile walls. He’d had this job for a while now, but never before had it wracked his nerves so. He’d played the role of ambassador for foreign countries, for angered peoples, for politicians within their </span>
  <em>
    <span>own</span>
  </em>
  <span> countries. But </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>before had he played ambassador for those of not this world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Aliens.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was first contact. Not for the world -- intergalactic travel was old news, as was intelligent alien life advanced enough to meet humans half-way there in the void of space, but this was a first for Duke Devlin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blew his breath out explosively and carefully ran his fingers through his long raven hair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Utterly nerve-wracking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was charismatic. People loved him. It was great! He’d never failed on the job before, not even under the pressure of smoothing the way for talks between presidents and dictators, but this seemed to be so much more. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt totally unprepared.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he’d studied their culture.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he’d memorized their faces.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d learned their customs. But never before had he felt so utterly unequipped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ambassador Devlin,” a soft, clear voice echoed from the doorway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rebecca was there with her tablet. Behind her glasses, her sharp eyes saw it all. There wasn’t much that went unobserved by her. Clever woman.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’ve arrived.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Understood,” he replied, voice wonderfully solid. Good start, good start. Even if he wasn’t talking right to them, any practice keeping his nerves under wraps was good practice. He stood and smoothed his hands over the front of his black suit jacket. It was flawless, of course. He didn’t want to look like a slob when… when…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he was meeting the literal </span>
  <em>
    <span>king</span>
  </em>
  <span> of another planet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An entire fucking planet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not even Earth was unified under one leader.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he’d done his research on this king. He was loved by his people and all species that came into contact with him. Fair and benevolent but with a fierce sense of justice. Duke guessed that he’d have to be -- anyone less than a stellar leader would have an entire planet to contend with. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He walked alongside Rebecca as they walked down the corridor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“... How do they seem?” Duke asked quietly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rebecca chuckled nervously. “Pretty stoic, serious. Might just be their faces, though. I didn’t actually see them in person.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That makes both of us.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were… bizarre enough on the screen of his tablet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He exhaled slowly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could do this. He could make sure that the king of another planet would have a pleasant first visit to a Human ship.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>The doors hissed open on both ends of the corridor. He and Rebecca marched from one end. Mako (Ryouta Kajiki was his real name, but the crew just called him Mako), the captain of the ship, walked alongside one of their guests, and the king's entourage followed close behind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From across the corridor, Duke met crystalline eyes. His breath froze in his throat. That maroon was even more vivid in person. The Khemetians were stunningly humanoid in so many ways -- bipedal and proportioned like humans, even with similar stances and faces, but they were so distinctly </span>
  <em>
    <span>alien</span>
  </em>
  <span> in just as many aspects.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ethereally beautiful and elegant in facial structure, so much so that they might be mistaken for angels if not for the scales that lined the prominent structures of their bodies, and the spiny crests and fins that decorated their heads and even along their spines.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, Captain Kajiki, thank you for escorting and hosting our most honored guests,” Duke managed to say through the lump in his throat. Smiling, he glanced back to said guests. “You are King Atem, I presume?” Though he knew, so thoroughly, that this was indeed the king of an entire planet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>King Atem was standing at Mako’s shoulder. He was small, even for his people, it would seem, based on the two towering males behind him, but he held himself with all the regality and grace of royalty. It was intimidating, the squareness of his stance and the confidence in the set of his jaw. But he smiled, amicable, and Duke did his best not to stare at the king’s pearly teeth and the sharp double set of canines. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Indeed I am, Ambassador Devlin,” King Atem said, and his voice was surprisingly deep and solid for his small frame. He gestured languidly with a hand adorned with a ring for each finger to the men behind him. “This is my cousin and advisor, and head Senator, Set.” Yes, Set, enormously tall and with a seemingly permanent frown and piercing blue eyes. “And this is Prime Minister Mahad.” Not as tall as Set, but broader, and his lean muscularity was obvious beneath his clothes.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chaos and Harmony (Magentashipping)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rated T -- proposed rating when I finish this.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, Magentashipping is Zigfried x Mana, and it was a pairing conceived in Hatshipping Vol. II, and I was going to write this idea when I realized that this was multi-chapter fic material, not oneshot material. So, I wrote a different ficlet for Hatshipping and continued writing this behind the scenes.</p><p>That being said, I am actually in the processing of writing this story. I will not post it until it is finished, that way I don't have another dangling WIP hanging out on my profile. Meanwhile, I thought I would share at least the first chapter with you guys. </p><p>This is a fantasy AU with sorceress Mana and knight/dragonslayer Zigfried (just like his namesake, Siegfried, a character from Germanic myth and Wagner’s The Ring, except he doesn’t get killed by a woman he tricked into marrying an evil king in this). (Also, it’s been forever since I’ve watched the show, and even longer since I’ve watched the later seasons [my last watch through I only got like halfway into season 2 before other things came up and I forgot to continue watching] so bear with me on the characterizations since I don't often write these characters, if ever.)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Birds sang and danced through the canopy. The wind hissed through the leaves just beneath. Zigfried sighed, tasted the heavy, wet air on his tongue. Even here in foothills of the mountains, the air was sweet and thick with the scent of summer blooms. He stepped along the faint path -- it was overgrown with underbrush and long, thin grass. The sunlight was dappled by the leaves and blooms overhead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So we’re just tracking a dragon today?” Leon asked quietly from just to his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. It is far too soon for felling one,” Ziegfried replied. In all honestly, he’d never let his brother get too close to one of the fire-breathing beasts. But… tracking skills were useful -- Leon could use them for more than just dragons, and it was a beautiful time of the year for a hiking trip into the mountains. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if to attest to the fact, a sweet breeze flowed through the trees and rustled the blooms and Zigfried’s tied back hair. Petals drifted as if on the gentle waters of a stream. He breathed in deeply again. It was far too beautiful to leave Leon alone within the walls of the manor. To not bask in this summer paradise was a sin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced back at Leon. Those hazel eyes were admiring the view, the thick green foliage and pale pink blossoms, the songbirds -- bright and dull alike -- flitting from branch to branch. A bee, languid and fat, buzzed close to Leon’s nose. He chuckled softly, and the insect drifted away on the gust of his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zigfried smiled faintly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They crested the hill, and the path wound down among the trees, the shrubs, and some jagged rocks bared to the surface. “Take caution. The slope is steep,” Zigfried said, carefully placing one foot after the other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leon hummed, but he picked his way down just as cautiously as his brother before him. Zigfried’s armored rustled with each step -- a light leather armor, well-crafted and sturdy but light and flexible. They were scouting after all, and Zigfried did not plan to face any beast in combat on this trip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d trek an hour or two more, and then they’d make camp for the night, Zigfried decided. There was a clearing not too far from here, nestled against a brook. Some shelter in the trees, but some space to lay and build a fire, and access to fresh mountain water, straight from the caps melting in the summer heat atop the peaks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mouth watered at just the thought. He relished the manor and all the luxuries it had to offer, but there was little else better than cool, crisp mountain water, especially after a long day of journeying through the foothills. Perhaps he and Leon could hunt a rabbit, or maybe even a boar snuffling among the brush. If not, they had preserved meats and bread packed away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will we see a dragon at all?” Leon asked, breaking the silence and Zigfried’s distant daydreams of their future meal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zigfried resisted the urge to purse his lips. His true objective had nothing to do with dragons and everything to do with spending time with his younger brother, but he didn’t want to disappoint the boy. “Perhaps.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A soft, wondering breath from Leon. “Maybe we will see that big white one Kaiba is always going on about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zigfried rolled his eyes. “Kaiba’s telling tall tales. I’m sure the beast is nothing to gawk at -- he just exaggerates the story to justify the fact that he didn’t slay it when he had the chance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe,” Leon replied, laughing at Zigfried’s snooty tone. “Either way, it’d be amazing to see any kind of dragon. I’ve never seen a live one before…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>True, Leon had seen his fair share of slain dragons… Zigfried could admit that the beasts were far less magnificent when limp and crumpled as opposed to wings flaring and teeth bared and flames rolling from their maws like water pouring from a pitcher. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were breathtakingly fearsome, the ultimate game to a hunter such as himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They nest higher in the mountains, and fly down to the foothills, the lowlands, and even to the sea to hunt. It’s likely we’ll see one passing overhead,” Zigfried said, and it was true. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The sea is two week’s journey from here!” Leon exclaimed. “On horseback!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On the wings of a dragon, the journey is only a short distance,” he flicked his gaze back to Leon. The boy’s eyes were filled with wonder, and it made Zigfried’s lips tilt up into the faintest smile. “Some dragons are large enough to pluck whales straight from the sea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow,” Leon breathed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They sometimes carry the whole animal back to the nest, but generally they feast on the cliffs and drop the leftovers into the waves from which they came.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to see a dragon hunt a whale!” Leon gasped, energy vibrating from his every limb as he stepped closer to his brother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s quite a sight.” Zigfried lifted a hand, moving it through the air, tilting and banking like a bird. “They soar through the air, positioned perfectly so that their prey does not see the dragon’s shadow, and when the whales come to the surface to breathe…” He dipped his hand down fast, pinky and thumb spread out like the magnificent wings in his mind. “The dragon swoops down like a hawk, wings tucked close until they near the water, and their talons extend, their wings snap open, and it seems like only a blink later that they are ascending back to the skies, writhing whale in claw.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leon was shaking his head, his eyes wide. “That’s so amazing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zigfried’s smile grew. “Perhaps some day we will go to the coast. If you get a taste of whale, you’ll understand why the dragons are so keen to hunt them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If prepared correctly. But it’s a dense red meat, and oily, too. A meal high in energy. Good for sustaining the massive body of a dragon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been to so many places, and seen so many things…” Leon said quietly. “I wish I was with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zigfried stopped and turned. He set his hand on Leon’s shoulder. “You’ll get to come with me on all sorts of adventures. Just you wait, Leon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leon smiled, a great, wide one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This. This was… all that mattered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both started when an explosion sounded in the distance. The ground itself rumbled, and birds burst from the trees in frenzied clouds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was that one?” Leon asked eagerly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Dragons breathe fire; they don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>explode</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Zigfried replied. At least, he’d never heard of one creating explosions like that but… he supposed it wasn’t impossible. They hurried up the next hill for a better vantage point. The canopy just barely parted there, and they could see off in the distance, a giant tower of black smoke billowing high into the sky, like a massive foreboding mushroom. “A dragon definitely did not do that…” Zigfried muttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What could?” Leon asked. “A person…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A mage,” Zigfried replied. “A powerful one.” He stared, watched as the smoke began to spread out in a thick cloud as the wind dissipated it. “We best be careful. We don’t know if they’re friend or foe.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The sound of an explosion made her jump. Mana shot to her feet. She could see the aftermath of the explosion from the trees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No…” she began. “No!” She hurriedly shoved the roots she had just carved from the ground into her satchel. “No, no, no!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dammit, she shouldn’t have let her magical fermentations sit all on their own! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just like me to forget about them,” she grumbled, scurrying between the trees. Her whole camp was probably decimated now. “All my stuff…” she whimpered. Weeks worth of ingredient scavenging, gone in a massive explosion. “And I probably scared all the animals away.” She eyed the cloud of fleeing birds. “Definitely scared all the animals away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She imagined what Mahad would say. He’d probably shake his head and sigh, maybe hold his forehead a little. Just the thought of it made her chuckle sheepishly. So much for sending her off to learn alchemy on her own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need to learn some responsibility while you’re at it,” he had said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he was right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> told her never to leave magically fermenting canisters unattended!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good thing there aren’t any people around here. That’d definitely scare them, too,” she muttered. “And it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>embarrassing</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And she stumbled onto the path.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right into a </span>
  <em>
    <span>person</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oof!” She fell right onto her bottom, her satchel falling from her hands and spilling her foraged goods everywhere. Some went rolling down the hill. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She chuckled nervously and looked up. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Two people</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “H-Hello.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The taller man, in leather armor, eyed her with an arched brow. She couldn’t help but stare at his hair. It was tied back into an intricate braid now, but she saw the beautiful pinkish hue. It matched the blooms in the trees. Cyan eyes peered down at her, and she noticed suddenly the quiver and crossbow strapped to his back and the sword at his hip. A hunter of some sort. The boy look to be several years younger, his hair several shades darker, too, but she could see the resemblence in the brow, the line of the nose. Brothers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry for bumping into you…” she said, genuinely apologetic. “I… was in a bit of hurry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I noticed,” the man said, slow and smooth, eyebrow arching higher. He had a definite accent. They must have been locals. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another sheepish chuckle, her cheeks going hot. He was… handsome. She averted her eyes… and noticed the spilled ingredients. “Oh! Oh no!” She hurriedly picked up what she could. “Today is not my best day,” she muttered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ma’am…?” the boy said, a little hesitant. She looked up from where she was kneeling in the dirt and the grass. “Some… rolled down the hill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, thank you,” she replied. “Of course some did,” she sighed. She stood -- didn’t bother to brush her clothing off -- and scampered down the hill a ways to collect what she had lost. Some had stilled in natural cubbies made by the roots of trees. Some, unfortunately, was lost forever. This time, she securely tied the satchel on her belt and gave it a few tugs for good measure. “So…” she began awkwardly, peeking over at the two strangers. “What are you two doing all the way out here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We could ask the same of you,” the man replied, guarded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the boy smiled, and said with barely-contained excitement. “We’re looking for a dragon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, dragonslayers. She pursed her lips. “I’m sorry. I… probably scared them all away just now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man’s eyebrows were climbing toward his hairline. “That explosion was </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mana rubbed the back of her neck. “... Yeah. It was an accident, though!” She asserted. “I… just left some things unattended that I shouldn’t have…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a mage?” the boy asked, hazel eyes gleaming in the dappled light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I sure am,” she beamed back, finally brushing the dirt and bits of leaves and grass off of her clothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You made a spectacle of that size </span>
  <em>
    <span>on accident</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” the man interjected. He scoffed and shook his head. “Unbelievable.” Then, the way his posture set, back straight and hips cocked a bit forward, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was no mere dragonslayer. A knight, no doubt of noble upbringing. “One with such power and such </span>
  <em>
    <span>incompetence</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Sweetly, a rose and barbed thorns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mana pursed her lips. He had the face of an angel and the personality of an adder. She blew her cheeks out. Of course. The first people she saw in weeks and it was a beautiful pompous jackass and his little brother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she smiled sweetly at them, particularly the younger one. He seemed nice. “Well, good luck dragon hunting. Be careful near the tallest peak, though. Big white sow there, and she’s got a nasty temper.” She chuckled, remembered how she’d nearly gotten blasted with white hot plasma a few weeks prior, when she’d gone to dig through the snow and harvest the grass shoots beneath. The sow hadn’t been too pleased to see an intruder on her mountain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d turn to leave, but the rustling of leather and a loud step stopped her. “A white dragon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she smiled over her shoulder at the man. “Big, white.” She winked. “Might not want to go after her in that armor, though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or maybe he should. The sow would vaporize him with her lightning breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mana had always found the practice of hunting dragons just to kill them to be entirely too savage, anyways. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ground rumbled again, and Mana felt the blood drain from her face. “I… need to go.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She bustled down the path. That was either another explosion -- not good -- or someone (</span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>) had come to investigate the disturbance -- also not good. She did not want to deal with… a very concerned neighbor. That could just so happen to be able to melt her with but a huff of breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she had to see if any of her experiments had survived.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Mana crouched low in the brush as she approached the smoldering remains of her encampment. Several trees were scorched, skeletal remains. The air was distinctly acrid with char and metallic with magic. Electric, almost. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was definitely one of her fermenting potions that had reached a critical point and detonated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She listened closely, to the faint crackling of fire still burning, to the wind hissing through the leaves. But she heard it, the huffing, the sound of huge amounts of air passing through great lungs. Sniffing, it was sniffing curiously around her campsite. She carefully parted the brambles to see. Great white plates gleamed, even in the sunlight dimmed by the ash still in the sky. Ah, speak of the devil -- the big white sow. She was indeed sniffing around, raking through the ashes with her massive claws, blue eyes bright with an inquisitive, </span>
  <em>
    <span>intelligent</span>
  </em>
  <span> gleam. Her aural crests were lifted, her wings the slightest bit rustled. Just yards away from Mana, that pale flank heaved with each breath. The sow butted her nose against some debris, her tail swaying gently behind her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was probably all new smells -- Mana had brought ingredients from far away, and her brews, even those including local ingredients, took on a new aroma as they developed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mana eyed that pearlescent hide wistfully. What she wouldn’t do to get a handful of dragon scales… She’d tried to find molted skin, but it seemed that dragons either didn’t molt their old scales wholesale or they somehow disposed of their molts afterwards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe they ate them?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mana tapped a finger on her chin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More likely that they shed their scales one by one, dropping them along the way like other animals did fur. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sow had presumably had her fill of poking around the ash-laden ruins. She huffed, neck arching back, powerful legs curling and bending. Her massive wings spread out like sails, and on the downward pump, she leapt. Powerful chest and back muscles flexed, and Mana fell back on her bottom at the gust of each wingbeat. Ashes swirled, debris skittered across the ground, and the sow was gaining height quickly. Eventually, she could ride the hot draft of air emanating from the singed ground. She rose up, high, high, higher, until she was a white dot on the darkened sky soaring towards the mountains. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mana watched with parted lips until the dragon could no longer be seen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a sigh, she clambered from the brush, through leaves, and eventually through scorched branches, until she was walking on dark ash where green grass used to be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing discernible of her belongings remained. It was all blackened debris now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pressed a palm to her forehead, her face wrought with a grimace. “My spellbook…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then she gasped, taking her pack off. No! Her spellbook was in her bag, and her staff was strapped to her pack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Praise the divines…” she breathed. Mahad would never let her hear the end of it if she let something happen to her spellbook. Or her staff. He’d helped her make both of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a sigh, she sat on a burnt log and cracked her spellbook open. Magic blossomed off the parchment like an intangible cloud of dust. There was something in there that could help her… hopefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She puffed her hair out of her face. What a long day! She laughed a little to herself. She could just imagine Mahad’s face when she got to tell him about this.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>She’d smelled like flowers, like the blooms all around them. Soft and warm and full of vitality when she had crashed into him. Zigfried could </span>
  <em>
    <span>sense</span>
  </em>
  <span> the magic swelling off of her, thick and heady like the summer wind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>… And she was a complete imbecile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not too surprising, considering her wild, unkempt hair and stained garb and too-bright smile. All of that power gifted to such a blundering fool… Zigfried shook his head. It was baffling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d worked hard for his skills, and the fact that someone so clumsy could have a bottomless well of natural talent agitated him to no end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because while magic was a skill one could learn, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>magnitude</span>
  </em>
  <span> of one’s magic was granted at birth. It seemed the nameless sorceress was all magnitude and no skill. A bull in a china shop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She was interesting,” Leon said. “I’ve never met a mage before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Interesting’ is one word for her,” Zigfried replied. Definitely one of the strangest mages he’d ever met. All the sorcerors and sorceresses he encountered always had this… serenity about them. They seemed to float through the crowd, graceful as a leaf on the surface of a still pond. That woman had been… chaos embodied. Where others drifted, she tore through with all the energy of a gale-force wind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could </span>
  <em>
    <span>hear</span>
  </em>
  <span> Leon’s grin. “... And I guess Kaiba wasn’t lying about that dragon, after all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It could very well be a different dragon,” Zigfried muttered. White dragons couldn’t be all that rare, especially up in the mountains where they blended in with the snow. But if the nameless sorceress was right, and the beast was a sow, that meant they had a large, temperamental, territorial female on their hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe…” Leon lilted, and Zigfried frowned over his shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sorely missed the days Leon’s adoration for his older brother outweighed his skepticism.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, but he should be proud. Good on Leon for beginning to think for himself.  He sighed quietly. How did Leon grow up so fast? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m thinking we should --” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he cut himself off, grabbing Leon by the arm. He dragged him into the brush, and he held a finger to his lips as they crouched in the brambles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wind had suddenly changed direction, and Zigfried knew why. He silently pointed up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tearing wind came in pulses, thrashing the trees. Pink and white petals flew wildly through the air. And suddenly, from their vantage point atop a tree, they could see her in the distance, rising from above a circle of singed trees. She was so bright a white, if the ash hadn’t blocked the sun, she would have been blinding. Silvery crests and fins still glinted, though her hide was blotted with the black ash that she had been sieving through. Massive wings pumped, pushed her higher and higher.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow,” Leon breathed, and Zigfried quickly clasped a hand over his mouth. Zigfried shook his head slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both watched as she soared off in the opposite direction, toward the mountains she made her home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zigfried slowly took his hand away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that for?” Leon grumbled. “She had to have been half a mile away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A dragon’s senses are astoundingly acute. She’s already curious and territorial -- on edge. She might take any strange noise as a threat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leon nodded, mystified. “That’s amazing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zigfried was already lost in his own thoughts. What chaos that woman created -- summoning a massive dragon with an even bigger explosion. With ineptitude like hers, it was simply baffling that she was still alive. How had she not blown herself to bits? How had she not become but ash beneath a dragon’s breath?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head. The gods of luck and misfortune were clearly waging war over her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Zigfried?” Leon’s voice and insistent hand on Zigfried’s elbow brought Zigfried from his bemused ponderings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She was massive, wasn’t she?” Leon asked, nearly giddy, his eyes gleaming almost feverishly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She was,” Leon admitted. “But, of course, the females usually are a great deal bigger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like many species of bird, reptile, or fish, the females were massive, but what the males lacked in size they made up for in color. Their wings could flush with blood to bring about resplendent displays. Oft Zigfried had been assailed with a myriad of colors as his prey tried to intimidate him with flashing wings and crest, as if the flames pouring from their maws weren’t warning enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was simply too bad that the colors did not stay when they were dead. The mounts would look so much better if they did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked off over the horizon, toward the west, where the sun was climbing down to kiss the mountains and settle behind their peaks. “We should find a place to make camp,” he said, quietly, mostly to himself. “Find something for dinner, as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That clearing was far too close to that woman’s camp for his tastes, but it was better than nothing. They continued their hike.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>“Drat,” Mana hissed, watched as the moth flew away. The dust of its wings was needed to recreate one of the potions she destroyed today. The heady scent of the blossoms receded ever so slightly in the cool of the mountain night, but it still sweetened each breath. Mana huffed in the scent eagerly. She wondered just when the blooms would finally wilt off the trees -- they’d just been buds when she finally arrived in the foothills. They seemed to be long-lasting, at any rate. A good thing, since she need to collect more of them, too. All of her progress over the weeks had been demolished in the span of one afternoon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She puffed her cheeks out. Soon, the breeding season for that particular variety of moth would end, too, and they would die off, their purpose and life-long goal of propagating their species fulfilled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hatch, eat lots of leaves, turn into a moth, have sex, and die. What an existence! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mana giggled to herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a pre-planned schedule like that, these moths certainly didn’t have the time for hobbies, much less for donating the dust from their wings! That male moth was probably off on his way to find a female to breed with, most assuredly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A faint amused smile and she was off, quietly walking through the brush in search of nocturnal insects to restock her decimated supply. Not too far from her encampment, she stumbled upon a tree, the bark raked through and scraped off by massive claws. She stepped close, carefully traced her fingers along the splintered grooves. Too small for a dragon… besides, the canopy here was too thick for a landing. She looked down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The imprints of tracks flashed in the dappled silver moonlight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She crouched, and with but a whisper, a small orb of light floated from the tip of her finger. Five toeprints, front paws differentiated from the back ones. The back ones looked nearly human, if not for the huge divots created by claws. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A bear…” she whispered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d never seen a bear before, but she knew these marks could belong to nothing else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They looked relatively recent, all things considered. She touched the ground where it had been sunken in by massive paws. The bear’s essence tingled and twined at her touch. Very recent. That day, even. She pursed her lips and stood. It’d probably been scared off by the… incident. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hopefully, at least. Contending with a bear was a thing she did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that thought in mind, she left the tracks behind, waded through the brush in the opposite direction. She quickly crouched down again, blinking, staring straight ahead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A moth was perched on a tree trunk, illuminated perfectly by a moonbeam. The eyespots on the back of its mottled wings stared back at her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She edged closer, closer. The long, pink, fern-like antennae twitched. Its six fuzzy legs brought it higher up the bark. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mana murmured a spell, fingers twisting lightly, like leaves dancing in the wind, and suddenly the creature was frozen in place. Quickly, she advanced and opened a very small amphora, and whispered another incantation. The dust swirled down into the amphora, and she sealed the lid with a piece of cork. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The binding spell faded quickly, and the moth was quick to flit off after it was free.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She beamed after it. It disappeared in the foliage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’d be nice to find a few more, but she was exhausted after the day’s events. It was time to sleep for the night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned, amphora tucked away. Then she smelled it, warm and woody and crisp. Smoke. She quickly crouched down, eyebrows climbing up to her hairline. She didn’t light a fire. Either someone else did, or it was a wildfire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The image flashed behind her eyes, stark and vivid and bright.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The whole mountainside in flames, animals fleeing in panic, the fire leaping at their heels, hungry and merciless. Endless smoke choked out the moon and the stars. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lifted her head, felt the wind on her face. She followed the scent, and when she lost it, wiggled her fingers to magically trace the ash particulates back. It wasn’t long before the crackling of fire reached her ears, and she saw its orange glow glancing through leaves and blossoms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She crept closer, peaked through the bracken. A small clearing, a small campfire lined with rocks in the center. It was well-tended, grass and plants cleared away from the edges. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s going to be cold tonight,” a familiar voice said, quietly, and she ducked down lower, blinking widely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man’s hair was peach in the orange glow of the fire. He was braiding it again. It was so long, but each of his moves was cautious, keeping it from brushing in the grass and the dirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These mountain nights are always cold, even in the dead of summer,” he continued. A small smile, fond and genuine. “I know you enjoy your growing sense of and need for independence, but it would probably be best if you slept close to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want to sap my warmth!” the boy accused playfully, grinning in the firelight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A light chuckle, that small smile growing wider and brighter. “No, I’ve slept plenty of nights in these foothills on my own.” He pinched the end of his braid and looped it into a bun on the back of his head. “It is you for whom I feel concerned.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay, I get it,” the boy replied. He dragged his sleeping roll closer. “Thank you, Zigfried.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mana hummed privately and retreated into the forest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That night, she smiled as she settled down to sleep in her newly-reconstructed camp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe ‘Zigfried’ wasn’t as unkind as he seemed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She curled around the blanket she’d conjured from wood and ash.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though she still hoped she wouldn’t have to interact with him anymore. She couldn’t stand being attracted to a pretty, pompous jackass.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Kisara actually plays a really big part in this story, too, later on. I'm really excited to finish it all and post it. It shouldn't be any more than 6 or 7 chapters, but I know I've said that before *cough cough* <a href="/works/18978745/chapters/45064078">Open Arms and Open Eyes</a> *cough cough*</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Dark Fates (Reader-insert, choose-your-own-adventure)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rated M -- proposed rating if I were to ever post this.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I was inspired by <a href="/works/21156368/chapters/50353460"> House of Fears </a> by <a href="/users/Dejahthoris/works?fandom_id=26110751"> Dejahthoris </a> (choose-your-own-adventure reader-insert) to write one of my own. I wanted to create a massive, sprawling universe with 8 different branching storylines, but for some reason this endeavor fell by the wayside (I balked because of the sheer size of it and the energy and effort it would take to create it). I wanted to make it distinctly Lovecraftian in nature, inspired by the piece <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jo4-Bc85bF4"> Cthulhu by Gunship</a>. I was going to play off of the dark nature of the Egyptian God cards and the Millennium Items themselves, of madness and monsters and dark cults. Based on what path you took, the personality of the reader changes, as well as what characters you get to interact with. Because this is set some time in the 1920s, I decided to make the reader gender neutral, though I admit I view the reader as a male in all but three of the storylines. This just would have been an all around dark, creepy, tasty story. Maybe I'll continue it in the future (I do have like 8 chapters written, though that's only the tip of the iceberg with how fucking huge this story would have ended up being).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The air smelt of bitter brine. The heavy, wet scent of the sea, misted with the acrid aroma of the ashy rain dropping from the gray sky. In the west, the sun was setting, and its dying red rays reached desperately for the horizon, but each was smothered by the clouds pressing in from all sides. Yes, the horizon looked molten, ashen. It sent a chill down your spine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come, come,” your mother insisted, and her wiry hands tugged at your elbow. You shook your head and adjusted your umbrella.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, Mother,” you murmured, but you looked back to the sun setting over the ocean. The waters were so dark, unsettled, as they slithered their way to the bulwarks and spilled over the edges into the harbor. “Such a foreboding night,” you commented quietly when she once again curled her fine nails into you and tugged you ahead. “Perfect for a funeral.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll never make it in time if you keep gawking at the sky, my dear,” she said in that exasperated tone that never failed to make you feel as if you were but a young sprout once again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You frowned at her, but she kept her eyes ahead, her other gloved hand pulling at her mourning gown to keep the hem from dirtying itself in the puddles seeping between cobblestones. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You sniffed. You couldn’t understand why the two of you were attending Uncle Harold’s funeral. Your mother hardly ever made contact with him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You swiped another glance at your mother. Her fair cheeks were flushed with the chill and her eyes bright. Too bright for the solemn event you were about to attend. Your lip twitched. She wasn’t here to mourn. You glanced back down at her dress. It was old -  you distinctly remembered seeing her wear it at your father’s service, so many years ago. But it was different — fresh from the tailor. If you hadn’t known its origins, you would surmise that it was brand new.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Your mother met your gaze, and where her elbow was linked with yours, she shook you. “What’s the odd look for, my dear?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You just gave her a tilted half-smile. “Ah, I was just thinking about how lovely you look in that dress, Mother.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yes, she wasn’t out here tonight to mourn.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You knew your Uncle Harold was far better off than most of your family. He traded in ancient antiques, pulled from the ruins in South America or Egypt or Greece or Rome, sometimes even China. Lucrative, you guessed. And you knew of his affluent friends, young and old alike, and you knew that if </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>knew, so did your mother. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You bit down on your scowl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You’d thought that she’d let the subject die. You didn’t intend on getting married — all of your siblings had, and all but one of them was utterly miserable. Those odds seemed like ones you weren’t willing to chance. Besides, you’d like to focus on your career. If you got married, you’d have to focus on your partner… on a family. You barely had the patience for your nieces and nephews, and you feared what you may feel for your own progeny. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You sighed. Your breath felt dry compared to the cold, humid air. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Each step you took brought you closer to your uncle’s townhouse — though ‘townhouse’ was perhaps a bit of an understatement. It was opulent, lavish, as if he were some robber baron and not a finder and seller of old things. But maybe there was just that much demand in old things…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You took a moment to gape at the automobiles lining the driveway and roads. Yes, Uncle Harold had affluent acquaintances. Your mother’s other hand clawed tighter into your forearm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was an usher at the door, and you folded up your umbrella and gave it to the coatman. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your coat?” he offered, but you shook your head with a small smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll keep it, thanks.” You weren’t planning on staying long. Whether your mother liked it or not…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yes, opulent, lavish. Crystal chandeliers, mahogany accents, classical flourishes and ridges. Everything was warmly lit, but you couldn’t help but shiver. Your mother clasped you tighter and smiled up at you.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose it’s a good thing you kept your coat.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose,” you replied quietly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The richness of the house did not extend to only its decor and architecture — the guests that ambled within were bedecked in the finest mourning clothes money could buy. You tried not to adjust the edge of your drab coat in a purely self-conscious manner. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a funeral — or a showing, or a wake, you couldn’t quite recall what the invitations had said. Any way, it was supposed to be a time of mourning, of grieving, of tearful remembrance. But an amicable atmosphere hung about — the air was full of chatter, laughter, sometimes the clinking of glasses. The frown that tugged at your lips couldn’t be helped. What did these people think this was? A social convention?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But perhaps, to them, it was exactly that. Your uncle was probably just an acquaintance, not someone they knew closely. How could they grieve what they did not love? The nauseating feeling in your gut told you that they had just arrived to save face, lest their other acquaintances think less of them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Your mother had to drag you into the great foyer, where a majority of the people were about. Servants in black vests darted about with plates of food and drink. Somewhere, string instruments cried into the growing dusk. You snorted. You felt like you were at a cocktail party.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My…” your mother said under her breath as she looked about. That glint in her eyes gleamed brighter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You bit down your scowl. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Immediately, she was off, pulling you along to socialize. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Indeed, your mother wasn’t here to mourn.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We should find out where they have the casket,” you hissed. You wanted to pay your respects and leave. The total... </span>
  <em>
    <span>dichotomy</span>
  </em>
  <span> was making your skin crawl. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Your mother chatted up the affluents, bought them off with tears she conjured up and dabbed away delicately with a pure white handkerchief. You tried not to watch her. The shame boiling inside you was harder to quell when you saw those crocodile tears. You could only nod in greeting to her conversation partners, and the few smiles you cracked were strained and more like grimaces. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At some point, she had let go of your arm to hug a distant relative, and you took the opportunity to slowly step away. You were across the room before she noticed you were gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A harried waiter was carrying away a platter of empty champagne flutes. Entirely sheepish, you gently touched his shoulder to gain his attention.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes…?” He looked utterly fearful, as if he awaited for some unreasonable request or perhaps even a snake to fall from your parting lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pardon. I’m just wondering where the casket is…?” You gestured vaguely over your shoulder with a gloved hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His face relaxed, and he gestured to one of the large, curling staircases ascending out of the foyer. “The first drawing room in the south wing. It’s the second door on the right.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, thank you. Pardon,” you murmured again, and quickly ducked out of his way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You watched him sigh, obviously relieved, and scuttle off to continue with his duties. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The crowd was getting thicker — how could one man know so many people? — harder to navigate, but you made do, ducking around gowns that looked like they were made for balls and not for some antique broker’s funeral, ducking around servants with trays, ducking around long slender black coats and arms moving conversationally. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The worn soles of your shoes tapped gently on the dark wood of the stairs ascending out of the foyer. Up here, the din down below was but a cold white noise. Hardly anyone was up here. Just a few crying individuals, people you recognize from your childhood. Probably family members that you were estranged from because of your mother. You nodded, solemn at them, as you strode quickly down the hallway. Sure enough, the second door — a heavy, hand-carved thing of oak — was propped open. You stepped inside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The inside was warmly lit by lamps set low. The casket — huge and dark and foreboding — crouched by windows, thick velvet curtains drawn in to keep the fading light from outside out. You stepped closer, almost dazedly. The casket… was closed. The lump in your throat went down sharp when you swallowed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Portraits of your uncle, some photographs and some oil paintings, were propped all around, and you stared blankly at the face on each one. You’d seen portraits of dead men before, but never when those portraits were in the same room as the now-corpse they portrayed. The wood of the casket was so polished that you saw your distorted reflection on the dark surface. You touched it. Smooth like silk and cool. Cool as the grave, you could tell, even through your gloves. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You drew your hand away and slowly tucked it back into your pocket. You shivered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You stood in silence for several minutes. The thoughts in your head were jumbled together like huge chunks of cotton. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I heard he clawed out his own eyes,” a low, rasping voice said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Your gasp stuttered in your throat, and you glanced over your shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A gentleman in a long black coat stood behind you. His pale hair was tamed, tied back into a black ribbon, but the ends were wild, tumbling over and off his broad shoulders. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You gulped again as his words actually registered in your brain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah…” You turned back to the casket. The man’s distorted reflection hovered like an apparition next to yours. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of relation?” he asked. “Not many others are bothering to come to this room.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Y-yes…” In your pockets, your thumbs rub against your other fingers. “He is… was… my uncle.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My condolences…” came the rasping, rumbling murmur.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You looked up at the ornate ceiling. The beams were hand-carved, too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose he can’t complain much, though,” the man continued. “He died a very wealthy man who went on many an adventure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess… you’re right. That’s one way to look at it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not many get to travel as much as that old man.” His reflection grew larger as he took a step closer. “Tell me, was his trade that of the family?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pardon?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What I mean is… does archaeology run in the family?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You paused a minute before answering… </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<ul>
<li><b>“No, I’m a journalist.” </b></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>“No, I’m a doctor.”</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>“Yes, I’m also an archaeologist.”</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>“No, I’m a librarian.”</li>
</ul>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <em> They worshiped, so they said, The Great Old Ones, who lived ages before there were any men, and who came to the young world out of the sky. Those Old Ones were gone now, inside the earth and under the sea, but their dead bodies have told their secrets in dreams to the first men, who formed a cult, which has never died. This was that cult, and the prisoners said it had always existed and always would exist, hidden in distant wastes and dark places all over the world until the time when the great priest Cthulhu, from his dark house in the mighty city of R'lyeh under the waters, should rise and bring the earth again <strong>beneath his sway.</strong> </em>
</p>
<p>-- Cthulhu, Gunship</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. BPM (Respectshipping)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rated E -- the proposed rating if I were to ever finish this. The one where Atem owns a gym and Mokuba has a sudden interest in personal fitness and promoting local businesses.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>One of my loveliest and most loyal readers suggest I try something for Respectshipping (Atem/Yami x Mokuba) or Chibishipping (Yugi x Mokuba). Respectshipping is one I definitely don’t want to die without writing something for, so here we are with a scrap for it. I might continue with this idea when I have less WIPs to juggle. (Also, I am absolutely FASCINATED by age-gap stories. I just find it intriguing how people manage differences in maturity, differences in “where they are in life”, and the social stigma often carried alongside notable age differences between partners in romantic relationships.)</p><p>That being said, this is an age-gap story set in a modern AU with an aged-up Mokuba. Mokuba is 22 and Atem is 28. (Not a huge age gap but, for those ages, a notable gap in maturity.) Bisexual!Mokuba and Gay!Atem</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Mokuba smiled at the email sitting at the top of his inbox. “Hey, Seto, they finally sent it to me!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seto, from his seat at his desk, grunted but didn’t bother looking up from his computer screen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mokuba didn’t bother reading the contents of the PDF before he was printing it off with Seto's nearly industrial-sized copier and printer. The machine clicked and whirred, and, within seconds, was spitting out sheet after sheet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honestly, this seems like important information. I don’t know why we didn’t have access to it before,” Mokuba said. It was a sentiment that he had reiterated dozens of times.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seto only grunted again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mokuba frowned, but didn’t say anything further. Seto wasn’t the kind to dwell on the past (usually) and it seemed that extended even to their deceased biological parents. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But </span>
  </em>
  <span>this was important information that directly affected their lives and medical information. (Mokuba suspected that Seto deliberately avoided any mention of their parents not out of philosophy but as some sort of emotional defense mechanism.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a packet of their parents’ complete medical histories -- every clinic and hospital visit they’d ever had, every prescription they’d ever taken. It even listed </span>
  <em>
    <span>their </span>
  </em>
  <span>families’ histories of diseases. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The copier automatically punched three holes in the left-hand margin of the papers, and it was easy to slip the packet into a binder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He skimmed through the minor stuff and dug right into the meat of it. He whistled, low.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It… didn’t look good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks like our father’s side suffers a higher risk of heart disease.” He traced the text with a finger. He clicked his tongue. “Our mother was a Type 2 diabetic. Seems like she struggled with her weight a lot when she was younger. Also has a family history of diabetes.” Which was ironic, considering how both he and Seto were underweight several times growing up simply because of their metabolisms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He frowned, drummed his fingers on the binder. While he liked to think he led a healthy lifestyle, there were probably ways he could improve it. He was active, but it still probably fell under the recommended minimum. And his diet… well, he did like his sweets and his fried foods. He could probably stand to eat more vegetables (he shuddered at the thought of celery). Seto had done his best to raise his little brother, but there were some things he had been lax on -- and one of those things had been diet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now it was a bad habit that would probably do Mokuba better if he broke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced back over to Seto. It seemed that Seto’s lack of dietary discipline extended to himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seto didn’t eat a lot of sweets or fried foods -- Seto didn’t eat much of </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Undereating could be just as bad for one’s health as overeating.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And</span>
  </em>
  <span>… Seto didn’t have a physically-active lifestyle. Mokuba’s lips twisted. Seto would never admit it… but he was pretty sedentary. He spent most of his time sitting at his desk (either at home or at the office) or sitting in a meeting. Seto was thin, yes, but he was far from the definition of fitness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have a gym for employees, right?” Mokuba asked. They had a small one at the manor, too, but Mokuba always preferred working out around other people. Pumping iron or even just jogging on the treadmill in complete isolation just felt… weird to him. He supposed it was his social nature, or perhaps years of conditioning from physical education classes in public schools. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seto hummed, rather noncommittal. There was a strong possibility that he wasn’t even listening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mokuba pursed his lips. They probably did. When Seto took over KaibaCorp, he made all sorts of changes to the facilities, such as daycares for the parents whose children were too young for school and top-of-the-line cafes for employees replete with kitchens staffed by professional chefs. KC employees received nothing but the best in-office treatment (and out-of-office treatment, considering the expansive health insurance plans extended to every employee, from the janitors to the board of directors).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mokuba thrummed his fingers along his jaw. But… that wasn’t very appealling. Mokuba didn’t work at KaibaCorp anymore -- he resigned as Vice President when he started college four years ago, and he was exploring a different career path now. While he loved to come visit his brother, he just wasn’t comfortable using the facilities now that he didn’t work here, though he was sure that no one would care. Though, perhaps working out here, he could try to rope Seto into exercising with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lifted his eyes back up to Seto, who seemed entirely uninterested in any sort of conversation about his health and entirely interested in the files on his computer screen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mokuba sighed, puffed his hair out of his eyes. What a dick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d visited the university gym several times for various social functions, and it had never caught his attention before (besides, his fellow students told him that the bathrooms were disgusting and the equipment was beaten to hell).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned back to his laptop. Okay, maybe he could find a local gym to work out at, perhaps one close to the university. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He groaned when he saw all of the little red dots on his search results. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seems he had a lot to choose from.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Mokuba wasn’t sure if he was just picky or if this was some sort of latent procrastination rearing its ugly head, but he’d picked through a dozen gyms and </span>
  <em>
    <span>none</span>
  </em>
  <span> of them suited his tastes. Some were in strange neighborhoods, surrounded by abandoned warehouses, some looked like they </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> an abandoned warehouse, some apparently had religious affiliations (Mokuba was </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> not interested in those ones), others looked weirdly bougie and stuffy (Mokuba had seen more than enough bougie, stuffy people to know what their haunts looked like), and some had an uncomfortable mixture of those elements and immediately made Mokuba </span>
  <em>
    <span>nope the fuck outta there</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were still a lot of little red dots to choose from, but Mokuba would be lying if he said his hope wasn’t dwindling away to a withered shadow of its former glory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Listening to the GPS directions to the next little red dot, Mokuba frowned at traffic. Maybe he would just have to settle for the KaibaCorp gym.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled into the parking lot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared out the windshield. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Millennium Fitness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The building was mostly black brick with gold accents. It was sharp, standing out against the metropolis gray surrounding it. It was on a corner surrounded by other businesses, small stores and boutiques. Based on the pedestrian demographics, it was a perfectly ordinary neighborhood in the middle of downtown Domino. In the parking lot, vehicles of all assortments filled the spaces. A bike rack stood just on the side wall, and nearly every single slot was occupied by a bicycle. Mokuba frowned and disembarked from his vehicle, and even bothered to get his duffel from the trunk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seemed like it was worth checking out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He strode past a wall of windows -- seemingly designed to keep a two-way mirror affect to keep the average pedestrian from seeing within the gym. Mokuba could understand that, he supposed; having people staring at you from outside the gym could be uncomfortable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled open the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinked in surprise. For having such a darkly painted exterior, the interior was brightly, warmly lit. The ceiling was high with metal rafters, but it seemed to be padded with some sort of sound-absorbing material. For the most part, only the reception desk was visible from where he was standing, though he could see a sliver of a row of work-out machines beyond the wall behind the desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello there,” a woman chirped as she leaned from behind a computer screen. She had richly brown skin and thick, dark hair and bright eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He walked up, a flirty smile painted on his lips, and he glanced down at the name-tag pinned to her shirt. “Hi, Mana.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled brightly back, though seemingly oblivious to his flirtations. “I’ve never seen you around here before. Would you like a free guest pass today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mokuba shrugged. “Sure, that wouldn’t hurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he signed all of the relevant paperwork, and Mana printed off his guest pass, hooked it onto a lanyard, and handed it over. “So, with this you have access to all the facilities, and you can even attend the classes held by our staff, and even the owners.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Classes?” Mokuba echoed, head tilted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup! For people who want to try new types of exercise. It can be hard to get into certain things if you have no idea what to do.” She waved a hand toward the entryway to the actual gym. “Especially with some of the equipment in there.” She gestured to a binder on her desk. “We have our weekly itinerary right there if you want to see what sort of events are being held today.” She tapped a finger on her chin. “I think Atem has his cardio class set to start in the next fifteen minutes if you think you can manage that one.” She frowned. “If it isn’t already full.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mokuba flipped through the itinerary and hummed. He hadn’t really heard of a gym having so many classes before, but, then again, he wasn’t the most well-versed on the subject. He looked back up to flash Mana a brilliant smile. “I’ll be sure to attend.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Fifteen minutes later found Mokuba poking his head into the door of what looked like an indoor basketball court with a padded running track wrapped around it. The room was massive, and, already, several people stood about, clustered in the center of the court.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The crowd gathered thus far seemed to be primarily composed of women, and mostly between the ages of twenty-five to thirty-five, if Mokuba’s observational skills were anything to go by. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He arched a brow. Mana had made this cardio class sound daunting. Maybe she was prone to exaggeration, or maybe Mokuba needed to learn better than to judge a book by its cover -- these woman could be hardcore cardio enthusiasts for all he knew. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was relieved to see that the current attendees had no other equipment than the clothes on their bodies -- he fell into line with them, discreetly copied some warm-up stretches as he waited for their instructor to arrive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> trotted into their midst -- short but lithe, muscles well-defined beneath his tight gray sleeveless tee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greetings from the crowd rang out to him, and the man -- Atem, as his nametag confirmed -- smiled back with nods and languid waves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mokuba took a minute to lick his dry lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The man was gorgeous.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Delicious bronzed skin; sharp, elegant features; piercing crimson eyes; wild hair; body to rival Adonis; smile bright and friendly and handsome -- he had it all. Mokuba realized -- with sudden clarity as he watched the women fawn over this beautiful man -- why this class would fill up so fast, difficult or no. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atem rolled his wrist in to check his watch. His shapely lips parted, and the voice that poured from deep in his chest froze Mokuba where he stood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This man, by all intents and purposes, was </span>
  <em>
    <span>petite</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and yet the deep, sonorous tones that spilled from his lips seemed to resonate down to Mokuba’s very bones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it looks like it’s almost time to start.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mokuba gulped. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is about as far as I got before I could let myself go any further and risk falling down the hole of WIP hell. Because I knew that if I started getting into the meat of this, there would be no stopping. </p><p>Basically, Mokuba decides on this gym and purchases a membership. While he's generally confident in approaching women, he's only had experience with 1 guy when he was in high school, and Atem is just a bit intimidating (both because oh-my-god-hot-enough-to-cook-eggs-on-that-bod and also because he is an older man), so Mokuba starts off attending a bunch of Atem's classes so he can pine from not-too-far-away. Atem's staff and fellow co-owners jokingly call him the 'King of Cardio' -- this man has endurance like no other. You'd sooner outwork a mule before you could outwork Atem. Which is more than a little attractive. </p><p>Atem notices and reciprocates the attraction, though he's a little nervous about the whole thing because Mokuba is a younger man (though he hardly lets those nerves show). However, he waits for Mokuba to make the first move -- ya know, to preserve his professionalism as the business' owner. </p><p>I imagine all of this with sexual tension thick enough to cut with a plastic butter knife, and then of course some protective Seto, since Atem is older than even him in this AU (Seto is 25, so I am using the 3 year age gap between Mokuba and Seto as originally set in the manga). Also, some nerdy dorkiness because both Atem and Mokuba are still mega dorks in this (of course, why would I dare to change that).</p><p>ALSO, a final note regarding what is already here... </p><p>I'd really like to think that Seto would be a perfect parent figure to Mokuba. But, let's face it, Seto had to raise himself <em>and</em> Mokuba, and also run a business and also attend school and etc etc etc. Chances are, some things would slip through the cracks. (Also, just plain spoiling Mokuba because it would be easier than forcing him to eat stuff he doesn't like).</p><p>That concludes my rant! Thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. River Song (undecided pairing and characters)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rated at least M, possibly E, if I were to finish conceptualizing this.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A long time ago, I watched this documentary about Amazonian river dolphins. Some of the peoples along the Amazon river believed that, when the sun went down, pink river dolphins would turn into gorgeous young men who seduced young women (especially virgins) with their hypnotic beauty. I've been wanting to do something for this for a long time, but I couldn't decide on a pairing or even characters (though I was leaning heavily toward Ryuuji, Atem, or Bakura being our supernatural aquatic seducer). But I had this transformation scene stuck in my head, and that's all I could manage to get down. </p><p>If you have any idea of a good pairing for this idea, I would love to hear it! Reader insert would also be on the table. Either way, the other character in the pairing would be like "Who is this beautiful young man covered in mud and why do I want to have sex with him...?"</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The river sighed and lapped, its eternal song whispering through the thickly leaved trees. The sky bled with fire, burning from that blazing yellow to orange, to red as a summer flower’s petal to purples and blues and star-studded black of a dark night. Beneath the water’s surface, down in the depths, there was another song, a chorus of voices, a dance of pale silhouettes dashing through the depths, breaching up to catch their breath, diving back down to continue their evening performance.</p><p>One voice rang above the others, clear and haunting, eerie. Its owner passed close, close, closer to the shore as the last of the sun’s rays faded from the edge of the horizon. A smooth back broke the water’s surface, a gush of hot, wet air as the beast breathed. When no yellow graced where the sun once kissed the river’s glassy surface, the beast shored itself up on the mud of the riverbank. Flippers groped at the sand, narrow jaws parted, the fluke arched up above the water.</p><p>The head threw back, wild hair tumbling down, fingers parted from the flippers to spread in the mud, legs dropped back down with a splash into the river. He sat up, stretched, lean body glistening in the dawning moonlight.</p><p>A graceful foot planted into the mud. He walked into the underbrush and was swallowed by the rain forest.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. The Beast With Many Names (Sealshipping)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Unknown rating -- not sure all I would want to do with this.</p><p>Mahad had only been intending to summon forth a low-level demon for survey-taking purposes… he didn't mean to summon the King of Hell himself.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ah yes, the fabled flubbed demon summoning trope… but with some Sealshipping. Demon King!Atem is inspired by <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qS5-QmkKzJQ">“Majesty”</a> and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4CSFkjPm0A0">“He Is”</a> by Ghost. I imagine this to be an urban fantasy AU, so more on the modern side. What's here so far is mildly humorous and a little fluffy. I hope you enjoy it &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The black wax had melted just the way he wanted; it dripped off the candles, down into the grooves on the floor, and solidified right into the shape of an inverse pentagram. Mahad cleared his throat, the words already memorized. The archaic language rolled of his tongue, and the little flames scattered all about him danced in time with the sibilant syllables. </p><p>Each word was a thread, weaving together into a tight band around the summoning circle. Mahad unknowingly fell into a rhythm, swaying and rocking as he read, and the candles twirled with him, and that band of dark magic tightened, taut, harnessing within it the power to breach the veil between worlds. But there was resistance, like pushing his hand through gelatin, so he pressed harder, funneled the full force of his magic into the words he was chanting like a mantra. </p><p>The flames leapt higher, unnaturally tall on their little wicks, and the air vibrated, trembling like a rough, stormy sea. A roar of white noise rushed through Mahad’s ears, blocking out the sound of his own voice, and, entranced, he reached his hand forward, a small knife pressed to his palm, and cut. </p><p>An offering. </p><p>The crimson liquid unfurled from his skin, dripped down onto the black wax with a wicked hiss. </p><p>A void of black was forming before him, and wind was tearing through the room, as if he were in an airplane and someone had opened the door. </p><p>Then a boom, like the shot of a cannon or a clap of thunder, right as his mantra reached its unbearable crescendo.</p><p>He collapsed forward, hunched over his own knees, his ears ringing in the sudden silence, sweat slicking his clothes to his body. </p><p>Summoning a demon was a lot of work. </p><p>A dark, forboding presence filled the room, overwhelming, making the air thick and hard to breathe. Mahad’s brow furrowed as he wiped it off. Such a strong presence for the minor demon he wanted to summon. But maybe even minor demons were this powerful. He had no clue -- this was his first time summoning a being from another dimension entirely.</p><p>He slowly sat up, his entire body aching. He’d have to wait a while for his strength to return before he could send it back. Good thing he had some things planned to keep both him and his guest occupied. </p><p>He froze, his eyes meeting with a pair so red and vivid and <em> glowing </em> that it made his heart palpitate in his chest. They stared from a face pale and regal and so ethereally beautiful, inhuman in its chiseled elegance. Wild hair tumbled down to shoulders clad in ornate black armor, spiked and ridged and splayed out like feathers cresting his collarbones. Wings, huge and black, loomed from behind him, so dark and indefinite like shadows of the void from whence he came. </p><p>A low growl rumbled, the candlelight flickered, and a shadowy tail flicked. Mahad could only blink, take in the black, jagged horns that curled back from just behind a golden blond fringe. </p><p>“For what purpose have you summoned me, mortal?” a deep voice growled, and the flames shivered, and Mahad shivered, too.</p><p>He dumbly pawed at the floor next to him until he reached the little packet he had printed out earlier. “I, uh, I don’t… don’t have a very complex request, I’m afraid,” he stuttered, breathless, watching the demon’s head tilt, hair shifting, wings folding and unfurling behind him. </p><p>“Any request you may make will be simple to me, human,” came the hiss on flashing pearly fangs. “Do you wish me to curse your enemies? Subjugate the world for you to rule?”</p><p>Mahad shook his head dazedly. “N-No, nothing like that.”</p><p>Those luminous eyes flicked down to the papers Mahad was holding. “A contract for powers beyond your realm?”</p><p>“No,” Mahad chuckled nervously. “I…” he cleared his throat, sat back on his heels more and licked his dry lips. “I’m collecting information on demon culture and society. We humans don’t know much about the structure of Hell, and I would like information directly from the source.”</p><p>A sleek black brow winged up, and Mahad felt his face flushing even before the demon spoke. “You want me… to take a survey.”</p><p>Mahad bobbed his head. </p><p>A snarl, inhumanly sharp teeth from behind shapely lips. “You summoned the <em> King of Hell </em> to take a <em> survey </em>?” The flames leapt up before sputtering under the force of his hiss.</p><p>Mahad froze. “The… what? P-Pardon me?”</p><p>A barking laugh that made Mahad jump in his skin. “Did you not know whom you brought to your world, conjurer?”</p><p>Mahad licked his lips again, discreetly wiped his sweaty palm on his pants. “I… the spell was for a low-ranking imp. Are you… not… an imp?”</p><p>The demon strode two steps closer, his talons clicking on the ground. He glared down at Mahad, his wings spreading and arching up high, consuming all of the light around them. “I am the King of Hell, Ruler of the Pit and Commander of the Horde. I am hardly a <em> low-ranking imp. </em>”</p><p>Mahad’s first response croaked in his throat, and he nervously coughed and tried again, “I don’t understand.”</p><p>Dark brows furrowed, nostrils flared as the literal <em> Demon King </em> took a deep breath that had the flames swaying. “I do not, either.”</p><p>“I truly did not intend to summon you, Your M-Majesty,” Mahad asserted, tongue tripping over the honorific. </p><p>“Bring me the spell,” the demon commanded, and Mahad scrambled to his feet. He blinked. He was… much taller than the demon. But the hard glare he was receiving made him sure that it was not in his best interest to bring it up. </p><p>“I’l be right back,” Mahad murmured, and then he was darting out of the room to hunt the spell book down. It was still open on the desk in his study, notes scribbled in the margins and on papers stuffed between the pages. He rushed back. </p><p>The Demon King stood with his armored arms resolutely crossed, his tail flicking impatiently. </p><p>“It was this one,” Mahad said, “It clearly states that it’s intended for summoning lesser imps, and I even translated the text to be sure of the meaning,” and he handed the book over the edge of the summoning circle. </p><p>The back of the demon’s hands were protected by a black triangle of armor, but his palms and fingers were bare, and several glinting rings adorned his elegant, clawed fingers. </p><p>He held the book, flipped through it, glared down at it through his thick black lashes, his shapely lips pursed slightly. </p><p>Mahad gulped. He was attractive… for a demon. </p><p>“You are correct,” the demon mumbled, traced a clawed finger over the text. “This is meant for summoning imps.” He looked around at the candles, at the inverse pentagram on the floor. “And you used the right ingredients and symbols.” A harsh, sharp exhale. His red eyes cut up to Mahad. Mahad’s heart leapt into his throat. “That leaves you as the only variable.” Then, his eyes widened, rounder, his lips parting with surprise. “How much magic did you apply during the encantation?”</p><p>“I gave it my all,” Mahad replied, frowning. “I felt resistance and I pushed through it.”</p><p>The demon snapped the book shut with one hand and palmed his face with the other. “It was far too much. You changed a low-level spell into one strong enough to summon <em> me </em>.” His hand slid down to his chin, and he stared at Mahad with blistering intensity. “Just how powerful are you, conjurer?”</p><p>“I… have a lot to improve on, clearly,” was Mahad’s flustered reply.</p><p>“Now is not the time for modesty,” the Demon King snapped, exasperated. </p><p>“I am the most powerful at my institution,” Mahad bit out, hating every moment of it. </p><p>“I wouldn’t doubt it if you told me you are the most powerful in the entire mortal world,” the demon grumbled, shoving the book back into Mahad’s chest. “Do you wish to send me back? In this binding circle, I cannot do it myself.”</p><p>Mahad shook his head. “I told you -- I gave the spell my all. I need time to recuperate before I can perform the banishing spell.”</p><p>A deep, irritated groan rumbled in the demon’s chest, and his tail lashed with annoyance. It was rather undignified for a king, but… it was kind of cute. </p><p>Mahad bent down to pick up the small stack of papers. “In the meantime, would you mind answering a few of my questions?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I could have just posted this on its own as a oneshot, but I figured I'd put it in here because I really do want to write more for it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Wherever You Will Go (Sealshipping, fem!Atem)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rated T -- proposed rating if and when I get around to finishing this.</p><p>Princess Atem is the only living child of King Aknamkanon. When the king realizes that whoever marries his daughter will be the one to rule his kingdom, he sets forth to create a challenge to ensure that only the best suitor will have Atem's hand in marriage. He contracts Mahad, a great dragon who dwelled high up in a mountainous keep, to protect his daughter from any inferior man who may come calling. However, Atem is strong-willed -- she's no damsel in distress, and she'd rather not get treated like one. Meanwhile, her new guardian is surprisingly compassionate and friendly, and the bond forged between them brings about a result that no one expected.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, um, yeah. You guys know about my genderbending problem. You guys know I love to write AUs. If it isn't already obvious, I love dragons. I love Sealshipping. And I love playing around with clichés and tropes. Which brings us here. </p><p>I've been in a bit of a funk lately, so I wanted to just hammer something out without the pressure of actually finishing it, so I decided to write a bit about an idea I have had for a while. </p><p>This plays with the princess-in-the-dragon's-keep trope. Except the princess doesn't fall in love with a knight who's come to save her and falls in love with the dragon instead. Originally, I had thought of doing a Prideshipping story, as a kind of rework of the 'sacrificial lamb' trope I dedicated an earlier chapter to, but... Seto's personality just doesn't fit with the kind of story I wanted to write. Immediately after I discarded that idea, Sealshipping came to mind. This currently has a more western fantasy feel, but I might change it to fit more of an Egyptian culture, though this isn't set on Earth anyways so it hardly matters I guess.</p><p>Anyways, here what I have so far:</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hooves thudded rhythmically over the dirt of the path. A veil of dust rose about the many legs of the beasts galloping between the trees. Atem hunkered low to the neck of her horse, her cloak pulled over her nose to keep the dust from stinging her lungs. Already, she could see the purple-tinted peaks through the trees, and, from between those rocky spires, the dark towers and turrets of the keep.</p><p>That dark abode, crouching there in the mountains like a coiled beast, that isolated place that would be her home from this day forward.</p><p>She gritted her teeth against the hot frustration bubbling up in her chest like thick tar.</p><p>This was ridiculous.</p><p>But she would endure.</p><p>Up, through the foothills, and the horses slowed to a trot to traverse over the uneven ground more cautiously. The path began to twine up, narrow between rocky crags, and Atem peered curiously over the edge to the tree-laden river gorge below. Even up here, birds were singing, warblers and nuthatches flitting between the sparse mountain branches.</p><p>She sat up straighter to gratefully huff in the crisp breeze that whistled through the stones.</p><p>It was beautiful up here, she supposed. Ahead, the captain’s horse misplaced a hoof, and the beast startled a moment. Rocks crumbled from the path and tumbled, <em>click clack</em>, down the steep stony wall to fall so far to the trees below.</p><p>“Steady!” the captain bellowed and wrangled the horse into line against the far side of path. “It’s not too far ahead.”</p><p>Indeed, the silhouettes of those towers and parapets loomed closer.</p><p>A cold chill wracked Atem’s spine.</p><p>It was not particularly bright out that day – hazy gray clouds muffled the sunlight and draped the mountains in a dull shadow, and yet still a great shape plunged them into darkness as it soared overhead.</p><p>Atem gasped, sharp and nearly painful and crouched lower to her mare’s neck as her eyes peered upward.</p><p>She saw only the great dark underbelly for a split second, saw where scaled legs were tucked close to that massive body to form a streamlined shape that cut through the air with nary a whistle of wind to mark its passing. The body was gargantuan in its own rights, but it was yet dwarfed by the wings stretching to each side. And then she saw the back, as the creature was suddenly so much farther ahead, and it banked over the keep. Even in the dull light, it flashed a shade of deep midnight purple, like a darkly gleaming gem, and the wings were just lighter, like giant leathery banners.</p><p>And then it alighted on the highest tower, perched on curled claws and wings that hooked into the stone bricks like giant anchors and a tail that wrapped like a vine around the tower’s shaft.</p><p>The long neck, so strangely elegant and swanlike, lifted the horned and crested head that peered in their direction. And then it was still, as stone, as a statue, as a carved sentinel gargoyle looming over the sanctuary of a temple.</p><p>Atem forced herself to pry her eyes away from the beast and toward the narrowing path unraveling before her.</p><p>“It’s him,” a guard breathed from farther ahead. “I’ve heard stories but… they simply do him no justice.”</p><p>Atem could feel their eyes on her assessing her reaction, but beneath her cloak she had managed to school her expression.</p><p>Yes, he was huge. He was frightening. And he was no doubt powerful.</p><p>It was hopeless.</p><p>Her father had certainly posed a challenge, a bite too big for any suitor to possibly chew.</p><p>For who could combat that beast? Who could arise victorious to claim her hand in marriage? She was sure no mortal man on the face of this plane could possibly best such a foe.</p><p>That coiled frustration unfurled again, and she fisted the reins in her gloved hands as she sank her teeth into her lower lip.</p><p>And suddenly, that grueling journey seemed to pick up pace, though the canter of hooves never changed in tempo. Now, Atem’s fate was rushing headlong to meet her face-to-face. From between rocks and trees, she could catch glimpses of that massive yawning gate just over a gorge. An ancient but sturdy wooden drawbridge was already lowered, had perhaps been lowered for a great deal of time, longer perhaps than that dragon had inhabited its stone walls.</p><p>It was a loud sound, and a gush of wind pulsated in time – and a shadow fell over them again as the beast lifted off from his tower to arc over the parapets and land in the clearing just in front of the drawbridge. The ground rumbled, dust puffed up in thin clouds about the monster’s form. The men gasped, and the horses spooked only for a moment, but they were soon back on their way to meet the beast.</p><p>The path opened into the clearing, and once all of the horses were filed in, the captain quickly dismounted to give a deep bow.</p><p>“Greetings, g-great one! I did not expect you to personally welcome us.”</p><p>Atem craned her neck to stare up at that massive head, so ornately and elegant adorned with shining scales and delicately curling horns. But the beast was lowering himself down, to see them better or for them to see <em>him</em> better, Atem wasn’t sure. Eyes, a piercing crystalline blue that made her breath catch in her throat, gazed down upon them. She expected slitted pupils, like a venomous snake or a cat, but instead the pupils were round, though the lurid ripples of the irises surrounding them made them no less intimidating than otherwise. Like cold fire, she thought with a shiver.</p><p>Though the dragon’s jaws never moved, a great voice came pouring forth, resonating and deep like a distant roll of thunder. “Of course. A good host greets his guests.” His paws were massive, but still so graceful as he shifted his weight under him, in a laying crouch, much like a feline, his massive crested tail curling about him. His wings rustled as they furled upon his back and at his sides.</p><p>“Ah, of – of course, your greatness!” And the captain bowed again frantically.</p><p>Normally, he was a stoic man, as he was one who had survived many battles, but it seemed even he was stirred by the awesome size and majesty of the great dragon. After all, the beast had to but lash his tail and they would all perish.</p><p>The captain gestured behind himself, looking over his shoulder to where Atem was still perched on her horse in the middle of the group, and she nudged her horse forward until she had enough room to dismount. Her riding boots crunched in the battered gravel floor of the clearing, and her knees wobbled beneath her.</p><p>“I present to you Princess Atem, your charge as per agreement in your contract with King Aknamkanon,” the captain recited, and his tone grew in confidence as he continued. “The goods promised to you in return are in the cart.”</p><p>The beast hummed, and it felt as though the mountain itself were humming, and the beast lowered his head more, until he was just above eye level and just a scant few meters away from Atem’s face.</p><p>Those stunning jewel-like eyes blinked down at her, and the crests on the dragon’s head lifted as if in interest. “Hello, Princess.”</p><p>Atem trembled to be addressed by such a fearsome beast, and she hurriedly gathered her skirts in her hand to politely curtsy to her new guardian. “Great one,” she breathed.</p><p>Another hum, ruffling, a chuckle, she realized, when she looked up to those eyes and saw their gleam. “Please, call me Mahad.”</p><p>She let out a shaky breath as she gave a reserved smile in return. He… didn’t seem so bad.</p><p>Maybe this wouldn’t be so horrible, after all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Mahad's color schemes follows that of the Dark Magician, which I thought was fitting.</p><p>The goods that Mahad got in return was actually a cartful of ancient books from the king's library. </p><p>The King actually intends for the right suitor to <em>slay</em> Mahad, though he does not tell Mahad this. Mahad knows, though, as he is able, with his draconic senses, to perceive when someone is deceiving him. </p><p>Atem is definitely the type to think "I'm a strong, independent woman, and I don't need no man!" while also knowing her duty to her country, and she reconciles that by deciding that she should <em>pick</em> her suitor, instead of that decision being made for her. Mahad, a dragon who drinks respecting-women juice, agrees. They together basically vet suitors who come calling while living together in the mountain keep. </p><p>They fall in love with each other over the course of several years, with both of them either in denial about their own feelings or thinking that the other could not possibly see them in that way. Atem realizes she has to pick a suitor <em>eventually</em> (she has been very picky up until this point) and does so.</p><p>She leaves the keep to get married, and she's very sad. Mahad doesn't want her to go, but he doesn't want to stand in her way either. </p><p>But then Mahad thinks back on all of it and decides that he doesn't want to spend the rest of his days regretting letting her go, so he flies to the capital to try to intercept Atem before the wedding. He changes into his human form and finds her as she is preparing to be wed that day, and he asks her to run away with him. </p><p>What do you think she would say? ;)</p><p>Anyways, yeah, thanks again for reading all of the weird bullshit I come up with. It's much appreciated!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Doctor Honda (Stubbornshipping)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rated T -- proposed rating if I were to finish this.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Things have been too hectic for me to sit down and really focus on writing for my WIPs, and the result has been a bunch of scraps that I'm just going to upload back-to-back.</p><p>I can't even lie -- this is not my best work. This was right at the beginning of my funk. I don't like this. I think it has potential but I don't like the material I have here right now. Maybe you guys will feel differently about it. </p><p>This is an AU where Duel Monsters is just a really popular card game and that, somehow, Kaiba and Honda didn't meet or don't remember meeting each other. This stems from several headcanons of mine:</p><p>1) Kaiba, when he was younger, absolutely despised going to the doctor's. He thought it was a waste of time that could be better spent elsewhere. However, as he got older, he realized that if he nipped illness in the bud, it actually *saved* time. (He learned this the hard way.) </p><p>2) Also, as he got older, Kaiba gained major respect for other STEM professionals, especially scientists, and doctors. He'll take their advice any day over wallowing through sickness on his own, which has (sometimes) brought him to the fucking emergency room. </p><p>3) Kaiba also finds STEM professionals (especially scientists/doctors) incredibly attractive. Maybe even borderline sapiosexual. </p><p>Finally, I've been wanting to write Stubbornshipping and I love the idea of Honda Hiroto the doctor. Don't judge me.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The alarm blared. It was so <em>loud</em>, so foreign. Kaiba rolled over, a low groan rumbling in this throat. This was a first in a very, very long time, and it only confirmed his growing suspicions. Kaiba Seto rose <em>before</em> the sun, always, and Kaiba Seto rose before his alarm clock, <em>always</em>. Well, perhaps not always, since for every rule there existed exceptions.</p><p>Illness, for example.</p><p>While he could try to explain away the body aches, increased mucus production, and incessant dry cough, Kaiba knew that the fatigue was the final straw.</p><p>He was sick.</p><p>For the first time in <em>years</em>.</p><p>“Son of a bitch,” he grumbled into his pillow as he weakly pawed at the alarm clock.</p><p>When the annoying ringing finally stopped, his slumped back into the mattress. It was warm and he ached all over – the very last thing he wanted to do was get up, but he managed anyways.</p><p>With a ragged breath through his congested nasal passages, he pushed himself up and picked up his phone to open his email.</p><p>He’d spent most of the previous night in denial – after all, being sick would be incredibly inconvenient, and he had a lot of work to do the next day. But, now he couldn’t deny it, and he knew best that his productivity tanked when he wasn’t in peak physical condition.</p><p>It was time to cancel all his plans today and make an appointment to see a doctor.</p>
<hr/><p>He grumbled his whole way into the clinic. Of course, just his luck – the day he was sick was the day his preferred physician – Doctor Furuhata – was out on vacation. On the other hand, someone had cancelled their appointment, and he was able to get into an earlier time slot than he could have ever hoped for. Of course, the clinic was run by KaibaCorp’s subsidiary medical technology branch, but Kaiba Seto himself would have been very cross at receiving preferential treatment (that just wasn’t how any medical establishment should be run, he firmly believed).</p><p>“Mr. Kaiba,” the receptionist straightened in her seat upon seeing him.</p><p>He inclined his head and accepted the clipboard she handed him.</p><p>“We just need you to fill out some things before your appointment.”</p><p>He hummed in response and ambled to an isolated chair in the lobby. Behind his facemask, he grimaced when a man across the waiting room coughed loudly and wetly into his arm. Disgusting. He looked back down to the clipboard.</p><p>He jotted down his symptoms, signed and dated when necessary, and, as always, read the fine print. Of course, it didn’t change from his last visit – it never did – but he checked, anyways.</p><p>He brought the clipboard back up, “Thank you, Mr. Kaiba. We’ll get you into an exam room as soon as we can,” and sanitized his hands immediately. Who knew whose hands that clipboard had touched.</p><p>He was breathless by the time he sat back down, and all he wanted to do was slump back in his seat and close his eyes.</p><p>Instead, he sat ramrod straight and stared blankly around the room. Suddenly, he was sweating under his clothes, and he couldn’t keep his eyes on anything in particular.</p><p><em>Fuck</em>.</p><p>A fever…? He might even be dehydrated, though he made sure to drink plenty of water that morning. It felt like he was swaying in his seat.</p><p>He couldn’t be sure how long it was before someone called “Mr. Kaiba,” but suddenly he was standing and drifting to the open door.</p><p>“Don’t bother with the physical,” he murmured, lifting a hand to his forehead. Even he, with his hot, sweaty hand, could tell that he was burning up. “I have a fever right now and also feel like shit, and I just need some expert advice.”</p><p>“Okay, come right through here. We’re going to still take your vitals, and then Doctor Honda will be right with you,” the nurse, whom he hadn’t even noticed, assured gently, and she led him to an exam room. Immediately, she was taking his blood pressure and his temperature, and she frowned with concern at the readout. “Oh my.”</p><p>Kaiba didn’t hear it, but he moaned pathetically in response.</p><p>“I’ll tell him to hurry right along,” she murmured, mostly to herself, and then she said something to Kaiba, something that he heard but didn’t quite process. Suddenly, she was gone, and he was alone, sitting on the crinkly cover paper on the bedlike exam table. The pleather beneath the paper felt so cool and soothing, and soon he found himself laying back, blinking up hazily at the fluorescent lights and panting quietly.</p><p><em>Wow</em>, he <em>really</em> felt like shit.</p><p><em>I’m dying</em>, he moaned internally.</p><p>He didn’t even hear the door open or close, but suddenly there was a figure hovering over him, blocking out that stark white light. Broad-shouldered, tall, definitely a man.</p><p>This wasn’t Doctor Furuhata.</p><p>“You alive, buddy?” a deep, masculine, soothing voice asked.</p><p>“Unfortunately, yes,” Kaiba grunted in response.</p><p>A chuckle that made the back of Kaiba’s neck tingle and made him squirm the slightest against the crinkly paper.</p><p>“You aren’t looking too hot, either, though your temperature begs to differ,” the doctor joked. “I’m going to have to ask you to sit up for me, Mr. Kaiba.”</p><p>Kaiba moaned weakly. “I’m not sure if I can.”</p><p>“Okay, I’ll help you, then,” and though it was phrased like a statement, it had the inflection of a question.</p><p>A moan.</p><p>Strong hands gently grasped at his shoulders, supported the small of his back, and then he was being dragged upright.</p><p>“You are burning up,” the doctor said, with a quiet concern. “You probably should have stayed home.”</p><p>“Didn’t have the fever ‘til I got here,” Kaiba replied, turning his head just slightly to look the doctor in the face, now that it wasn’t shadowed harshly by the bright lights.</p><p>
  <em>He was handsome.</em>
</p><p>“Doctor… Honda? Was it?” Kaiba asked, equal parts relieved and disappointed when those gloved hands left his body.</p><p>“Ah, yes, Doctor Hondo Hiroto. And you must be Kaiba Seto.” The reply was tinged with wry humor.</p><p>Kaiba gave a small smile (unbeknownst to him, it looked like a dopey grin). Of course. <em>Everyone</em> knew who Kaiba Seto was.</p><p>“Based on your symptoms, I am inclined to believe that you have influenza, and I think it might be progressing into viral pneumonia. I’m going to collect some swabs first and then we will check up on your other symptoms. The test results should be back by the time we are done,” Doctor Honda stated, straight back to business.</p><p>“Sounds like a plan, Doctor,” Kaiba replied.</p><p>“I’m going to need you to take your mask off first, Mr. Kaiba.”</p><p>Oh yeah, that thing. Soon it was dangling from his long fingers, and Doctor Honda was telling him to say “Ah” and his fever-addled mind took that to places <em>far too </em>inappropriate for a man he just met and barely knew.</p><p>“Okay, perfect. You’re doing well,” Doctor Honda assured, all warm and kind hazel eyes, and Kaiba’s face got even hotter. Definitely the fever.</p><p>“You’re going to have to do the nasal swab yourself.” Doctor Honda extended the swab to him. “You’ve done one of these before, right?”</p><p>“Yes, and I hated every moment of it,” Kaiba grumbled with no small amount of fatigued exasperation.</p><p>Doctor Honda laughed, quiet but genuine.</p><p>Kaiba hated how attractive it was. Gross.</p><p>The swab had to go up far enough that it felt like it was tickling his brain, and, with all his nasal congestion, it was a most unpleasant pressure. He sighed with relief when Doctor Honda indicated that he could take it out.</p><p>“You indicted on your admission form that you have not taken any medication in the past twenty-four hours,” the doctor said as he put the swabs away into little plastic bags.</p><p>“That is correct. At the time, my symptoms were manageable without medication,” Kaiba replied, and the words slurred together a little.</p><p>“Well, I think the circumstances have changed. When I bring this to nurse Mie to be taken to the lab, I am going to ask her to have someone bring some acetaminophen for your fever and a drink to replenish your electrolytes. How does that sound, Mr. Kaiba?”</p><p>“You’re the doctor, not me,” Kaiba replied, a little brusque, and he held his hot forehead in his hand. “Whatever you think is best.”</p><p>“Ookay. Acetaminophen it is,” and Doctor Honda was gone.</p><p>He couldn’t have been gone too long because suddenly he was back with a tiny plastic cup with a tablet in it and a brightly colored drink. “Thank god it isn’t grape,” Kaiba muttered before opening the drink and tossing the pill back.</p><p>“Artificial grape is pretty nasty,” Doctor Honda agreed. He gave Kaiba some time to knock back a couple more gulps of the drink. “I need you to tilt your head back for me, Mr. Kaiba.”</p><p>And then hands were on Kaiba’s neck, gently palpating under his jaw and at the sides of his throat. Under the latex of the gloves, Doctor Honda’s hands were soothingly cool. Kaiba’s eyes fluttered close as he sighed. It was better than staring at those attentive hazel eyes.</p><p>“Your lymph nodes are swollen…” came the thoughtful murmur. “Checks out.”</p><p>Then checking his mouth and throat, listening to his breathing, all things that kept him in close proximity, and Kaiba tried his best not to get too flustered or, even worse, too <em>comfortable</em>. It’d been long since he’d been touched by someone that wasn’t Mokuba, and he felt a little pathetic that he was a couple minutes away from turning into a purring feline under the hands of a <em>doctor, </em>who was, you know, <em>getting paid</em> to touch him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Kaiba finds out he has a cocktail of rhinoviruses contracted from an event he did with small children just a while ago. Kaiba ends up making a bit more of a fool of himself in the way he asks Honda out (c'mon, he's got a really high fever, leave him be), but Honda agrees anyway. Don't worry -- it's not a breach of ethics; Honda is not Kaiba's general care physician and this is the only time he officially sees Kaiba in a professional capacity. Otherwise, I'm not really sure how far I wanted to go with this. I was planning on just... winging this. </p><p>Anyways, thanks for reading. I have several other scraps I'll be posting tonight, if you're interested in reading them.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Domini Silvae (Rivalshipping)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rated M (at a minimum) -- proposed rating of this story if I were to ever finish this.</p><p>The wildlife have disappeared from the moors, so Seto Kaiba treks out to a forest told by many to have supernatural qualities... and to be teeming with animals. Stories aren't going to keep him from putting food on the table... but the Prince of the Forest isn't all too willing to let his charges get eaten.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>1) I love Rivalshipping, y'all. 2) I have no idea what spawned this idea. I think I just wanted to write beautiful forest deity Yugi and no one and nothing was going to stop me. </p><p>Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy what I have so far.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There were all sorts of stories about these woods, of people getting lost deep within the bowers, only to find themselves at the tree line after a single turn, of spirits and wisps and creatures lingering in the arbor shadows, and sometimes of more miraculous things, things whispered with reverent awe, like entire groves of flowering trees in the dead of winter, of springs that rejuvenate and heal upon the slightest touch of their steamy waters.</p><p>But those stories were just that – stories.</p><p>Stories wouldn’t keep Kaiba from putting food on the table.</p><p>After all, in recent years, the wildlife population in the grasslands and sparse woods around the village had been depleting. Gradually, slowly, so insidiously that the villagers could pretend, for many seasons, that nothing was wrong, that all was as it should have been.</p><p>But Kaiba had noticed, and he had planned. The forest in the Vale was quite the trek away from the open moors they called home, but if it was as ripe in fauna as the stories claimed, then it would be well worth it. He could hunt not only for his brother and himself, but for the whole village. He could trade the furs and meats and bones that he didn’t plan on using, and he was sure they would trade easily – deer and the products they supplied had been in great demand.</p><p>It was a clear morning in early spring that he left on his voyage. It would take longer on foot, but he didn’t wish to worry about the hassle of taking care of a horse, especially when the horse was not his. The consequences of injuring one of the other villager’s horses… He couldn’t afford them. Even on foot, the journey only took a day, even with a stop or two to rest his tired feet. All the while, he didn’t see a single creature on the gentle hills of the moors and in the occasional stand of trees. It seemed that not even the birds sang out here anymore.</p><p>The lack of grazers had begun to change the very landscape – where the deer once kept down the saplings and the brush and the longer grass in the planes, the plants now sprouted and grew unchecked, and the young trees and bushes were green with new buds, and even though the last frost had been but weeks ago, the grass was well to one’s thighs.</p><p>He frowned deeply. None of this bode well.</p><p>Where have the deer gone? The birds? The small critters?</p><p>Though it may not be advantageous to move away from the village, it was tempting to consider relocating to a more… lively area.</p><p>It wasn’t long before it was in sight…</p><p>The great line of tall, dark trees, like foreboding sentinels, stood strong and stark against the edge of the moors. The shadows of the thick foliage were even denser in the closing dusk. He frowned. He could not hope to navigate in such poor lighting.</p><p>He would camp at the forest’s edge until morning.</p><p>Even from far away, he could hear it – the cries of birds, seeming so cacophonous and loud compared to the dead silence of the moors. He stared up. Well, hopefully they would quieten.</p><p>After his long journey, he needed his rest. After he cleared away an area to make a small fire, he supped on stale bread before he settled down – wrapped in his woolen cloak – for sleep.</p><hr/><p>The shivers were so strong they woke him up.</p><p>“Damn,” he hissed, blinking deliriously, surrounded by the shadows of trees to his left and the clear, starry above to his right.</p><p>While it was no where near cold enough to frost, the chill was no joke, especially when the fire went out.</p><p>He groaned and rolled over to nurse the smoldering coals back to life with some kindling and the firewood he had collected. Once it was back to healthy orange glow, he settled back, bundling his cloak more tightly around himself.</p><p>He wasn’t sure how long he had slept, but he certainly felt like he needed more. It was still dark. He had time.</p><hr/><p>The curses slid, thick and groggy off his tongue.</p><p>The fire was out. <em>Again.</em></p><p>
  <em>For the fifth time.</em>
</p><p>This was it. This was his eternity. Half-awake, damn near freezing, constantly trying to maintain a fire just so he didn’t wake up with his toes and fingers frozen together in solid blocks.</p><p>“And fucking stay lit,” he growled, settling back, his head pillowed on his bicep. He glared at those yellow and orange flames, but his eyelids were heavy, and it wasn’t long until he could no longer keep them open. He drifted back to sleep, until he was too deep to notice the strange wind that blew close and huffed out the campfire like one would a simple candle. A figure lingered in the shadows of the trees. When it seemed like the man by the fire would no longer stir, it disappeared, only the slightest flash of linen in the moonlight to mark its passing.</p><hr/><p>He woke up with a chill so fierce it seemed to gnaw at his very bones, but at least when he drearily opened his eyes, the pale light of dawn was there to greet him. The fire was out, the coals long cold, but he made it through the arduous night.</p><p>With an aching sigh, he hefted himself to his feet and buried the ashes of his fire.</p><p>In the early, wispy light of dawn, Kaiba eyed the clouds and long tendrils of mist slinking their way from the forest and out onto the moors. Already, birds were chirping and singing, at ease despite the strange, eerie atmosphere of the morning.</p><p>Kaiba shivered. It felt as though the mists and the shadows were watching him, but he chalked it up to the fact that he was no longer in an area so completely void of life. He ate a small bit of bread, readied his bow and quiver, and set off.</p><p>Of course, with the fog obscuring his line of sight, he would not be able to fire accurately, but at least for now he might be able to track some deer, perhaps find their trails, learn the lay of the land.</p><p>It was still dark beneath those thickly-leaved boughs, but there was enough light to see by, even in the mist. He crept forward, careful eyes on the ground, on the bracken and the ferns huddled close among the roots of the trees. He tried his best not to disturb them.</p><p>As the sun rose higher into the sky, its rays pierced the thick foliage and burned away the dense gray fog until it was nothing but wisps clinging under the fronds of the ferns. Here, in the whispers of the slight breeze and the singing of birds, it felt as though Kaiba had walked into another world, a realm of tranquility and vitality.</p><p>It wasn’t long before he stumbled across it. The ferns and bracken were bent down by so many feet so many times – a trail. He knelt and traced his fingers along the rich black soiled bared there. Deer tracks. Does, bucks, a myriad of sizes and weights. There were many. Perhaps a whole herd traversed back and forth, daily, based on the freshness of the tracks, but many days in a row, based on the establishment of the trail.</p><p>He followed them, just some meters away from the trail, parallel to it. Perhaps he would find where this herd currently resided.</p><p>He crept along, each foot placed carefully to reduce sound.</p><p>He lifted his eyes.</p><p>And standing in the yellow light of a sunbeam was a magnificent stag. Tall, elegant, muscles shifting beneath his immaculate hide even as he stood and regarded Kaiba silently. Huge spanning antlers sprouted from his head, antlers so big it was a wonder the beast could ever navigate through the dense forest without them getting caught.</p><p>But, there he stood, <em>staring </em>at Kaiba, and he stood so tall he looked <em>down</em> upon the human, even from that distance.</p><p>Kaiba scarcely breathed, only stared back. Slowly, so slowly, he reached back for an arrow in his quiver. He nocked the arrow, pulled the string back, and the sound of the stretch of the string and the creaking of the bow was so loud in the forest that had suddenly grown deafeningly silent.</p><p>His hand brushed his cheek, and nearly jumped from his skin when the stag snorted, and so agile despite his size, dashed off, disappearing with a hiss of leaves into the foliage.</p><p>“Fuck,” Kaiba huffed, watching the branches settle where the beast had fled.</p><p>The biggest deer he had seen in his life… and he couldn’t even say that he got to fire a shot at it. That stag would have kept him and Mokuba fed for weeks.</p><p>He slowly let his arms relax and, with a sigh, stowed the arrow away in the quiver. He brushed his cloak aside with a sweep of his arm and carefully stepped forward until he could see the tracks left behind by that massive stag.</p><p>He hissed an exclamation. The cloven hoofprints were nearly the size of his hand.</p><p>He saw no other deer as he trekked, saw no other signs of them save for the trails and the tracks they had left behind sometime that morning. And though he heard the birds, he saw neither hide nor feather of them, as though they were shying out of sight, way up among the branches and the verdant sunlit leaves.</p><p>He rested on the trunk of a fallen tree for a short moment. While this forest seemed to be teeming with life, none of it dared show its face to him. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Was this, too, a waste of time?</p><p>Perhaps it was too early to tell. After all, while he couldn’t see the sun to correctly gauge the time, it couldn’t have been past noon yet. He’d never run out of patience this quickly on any prior hunt. In fact, he’d waited an entire sunlit day before, perched perfectly at the intersection of game trails waiting for prey. Perhaps his desperation, his hopes for this place, were making him too hasty.</p><p>So deep in his thoughts, it startled him when a large brown-and-green shape landed on the log next to him, just inches away from his thigh. He gasped and looked down.</p><p>It was but a very large bullfrog, perched on its bowed, wrinkled legs next to him, with its ugly bulging eyes and undulating throat as it breathed.</p><p>It was a stupid thought, but he was tempted to bag the damn thing, just so he would have <em>something</em> to show for this journey. Mokuba would be thrilled to see the massive frog, anyways. Would probably want to keep it and name it.</p><p>But, just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, hopping away to plunge into the undergrowth.</p><p>“Good day to you, then,” he hissed, watched the ferns continue to rustle farther and farther away as the frog continued on its journey.</p><p>Well, that marked <em>two </em>living things he had spotted since entering this damnable greenland.</p><p>He took the moment to munch on some bread – rather angrily, he might admit – before he continued on his way.</p><p>And, one could argue, in his sulking, grumbling anger, he really should have been more careful with the placement of his feet, as he had been earlier. One could argue he really should have been more observant. One could even argue that he was being plain <em>stupid</em> when he was not checking where he was putting his feet when he was surrounded by such dense undergrowth.</p><p>Because between one step and the next, he was yanked off his feet, green and yellow and brown streaking by as he was whisked into the air by a cord around his ankle.</p><p>“Fuck,” he shouted, and he <em>heard</em> birds startle high above, but all he could see was green and yellow and brown from where he dangled <em>upside down</em> by his damn foot. The arrows all rattled from his quiver to scatter on the ground, obscured by ferns, and his cloak draped from his shoulders passed his hanging arms to brush across the undergrowth. “Wonderful,” he hissed, “Absolutely wonderful.”</p><p>Well, not all hope was lost. Hopefully, before the blood rushed to his head and he promptly passed out, he could reach the dagger in his belt and could, body willing, bend himself upwards to cut the rope.</p><p>Easy-peasy… Right?</p><p>Grabbing his dagger was one thing, but fighting against gravity to reach his own ankles was another entirely, especially with his heavy cloak weighing him down.</p><p>After several wildly unsuccessful tries, he let himself flop back down, swinging gently, the ferns below whispering with each pass of his cloak.</p><p>“Dammit,” he groused.</p><p>No, no way he’d be done in by a goddamn rope trap.</p><p>And then his eyes actually focused on what was ahead of him, and his mind discerned the image he saw before him.</p><p>The long legs, powerful maned chest, the long snout and leaf-shaped ears and expansive antlers. The stag stood, just a meter or two away, and it was staring right at him, its ears perked, eyes gleaming in the dappled sunlight.</p><p>He wanted to curse at the damn thing. It was probably laughing at him.</p><p>It snorted, ears flicking, and it turned, disappearing again, though Kaiba would hear its departure for many minutes.</p><p>“Fuck,” he hissed, and he went back at it, trying to bend and contort himself into such a way that he could possibly try to cut the rope, but all of his efforts were fruitless.</p><p>It was so physically taxing, this continued struggle, until eventually it felt as though he could move no more, as though all the blood in his veins had been replaced with lead.</p><p>He was going to die like this, wasn’t he?</p><p>The leaves were rustling again, steadily growing louder, as though something were approaching, and Kaiba’s body tensed, wondering what other beasts could possibly be lurking in this godforsaken place.</p><p>But then he heard it – laughter, gentle and tinkling like a small bell or perhaps delicate windchimes. The foliage and undergrowth parted, permitting a massive shape – the stag, in all his graceful glory, and something – no, <em>someone­</em> – much smaller. Pale linen blazed so bright and white in the light of the sun, Kaiba was tempted to bring a hand up to cover his eyes, but instead he stared, as best as he could while he dangled like a fish on a line.</p><p>The person, walking alongside the stag with a dainty hand on its flank, <em>petite</em>, in all senses of the word. Short, and delicate, like the dying wisps of mists in the early morning sun.</p><p>“Oh my, what a predicament,” a voice, just as musical as that laugh and thick with amusement, poured from that figure like the sunlight poured through the canopy, “It’s just as you said.”</p><p>Kaiba managed to speak around the lump in his throat. “Are you going to keep talking to your friend there or are you going to help me?” It came out gruff, as most things that come from his lips do. “I am inches away from the darkness.” And it was true – it was only a matter of time before he would be rendered unconscious.</p><p>“Of course,” and that white-laden figure stepped closer, and eyes, so vivid and purple like a lurid summer blossom, peered into Kaiba’s own. They were warm with mirth and framed by dripping gold hair made molten by the sunbeams. “Ironic, though, would you not consider it? A hunter caught in a hunter’s trap.”</p><p>“The irony is not lost on me,” Kaiba gritted out through clenched teeth and a face that was feeling hot and swollen from all the blood rushing to his head.</p><p>A humming giggle that tickled within Kaiba’s ears, and the person moved from his line of sight. The rope holding him wobbled. Kaiba nearly slumped with relief.</p><p>“Should I let him down gently?”</p><p>The stag snorted.</p><p>“Very well.”</p><p>The line snapped, and Kaiba crashed roughly, painfully to the ground. He cursed upon landing. “What the hell?”</p><p>“That was for trying to kill him. He’s very cross with you.”</p><p>Kaiba merely flopped back onto the ferns, unmindful of the arrows he laid atop of, and caught his breath. He looked to his savior. And promptly froze.</p><p>The view was entirely different when Kaiba was not upside down.</p><p>He was a man, a very small man, but a man nonetheless, and he stood there in thin, wispy linen that seemed to drip from his body, draped lazily around his shoulders and converging upon his shoulders, tied by a loose belt about his waist, and tumbled down between his legs that were both bared.</p><p>Pale, he was so pale and fair, and his skin gleamed so brightly it nearly rivaled the linen of his robe.</p><p>“What…” Kaiba began, lips and tongue moving so slowly as he took in every detail, drank with his eyes like his lips would take in fresh spring water. “Are…” And his gaze alighted upon ears, pointed and dainty but obviously <em>inhuman</em>. “You…?”</p><p>That face, so smooth it was nearly childlike and so beautiful as to be angelic, creased with a radiant smile with pearly teeth, and it stole the breath right from Kaiba’s lungs. “I am sure you know, or, at the very least, can guess.”</p><p>Kaiba could only shake his head. Those front pieces of hair were a fair, golden blond, and just behind them perched an ivory white structure, splintered coronals, blooming green buds of leaves and the tender pale beginnings of flowers. It was a crown, though made of a living plant, thriving in the spring just like the forest about them. Under and behind that, the hair was darker, though when that fair creature’s head moved, the sunlight flashed a beautiful crimson off the strands.</p><p>He wouldn’t dare to guess what the sight before him was, but he blushed to know he thought this small man to be the most beautiful thing to ever grace his vision.</p><p>“Not even a guess?” the man laughed, and the elk sidled closer, and that fair creature extended a hand out to touch its flank, so easy and natural.</p><p>“I cannot pretend to know who or what you are,” Kaiba admitted, slowly sitting up.</p><p>The stranger giggled again, and with one delicate hand, he shifted the draping linen to kneel upon the ground close to Kaiba, and the ferns shifted as if to cradle his pale form there. Those beautiful, jewellike eyes were now on level with Kaiba’s, if not lower, but they lowered as a pale hand sifted through the ferns until they retreated with an arrow perched in dainty fingers.</p><p>“I am Prince Yugi, guardian of this forest,” he said after a moment of frowning at the weapon in his grasp, after he had met Kaiba’s gaze once more. Kaiba reached out to take the arrow back – it looked so foreign, so <em>wrong</em> in those hands – but Yugi withdrew, one brow furrowed ever so slightly. “You came here wishing to do harm to those that reside within these bowers.”</p><p>Kaiba let his breath leave him in one gush, and watched as the stag settled in the ferns just behind the prince. The beast was half-curled about him, and Yugi leaned back, undeniably comfortable, upon that great maned neck.</p><p>“I… I came here out of necessity,” Kaiba asserted, voice rough as he fought past his breathless speechlessness. “I had no other choice.”</p><p>“I doubt these words,” Prince Yugi commented, and the words were superfluous when the accusation in his expressive eyes was more than clear.</p><p>Kaiba leaned forward hastily, but the stag’s head jerked, and the beast eyed him sharply. So sharply, in fact, Kaiba was sure the buck would gore him to death with those massive antlers if he made one wrong move toward the beloved prince. “You do not understand,” Kaiba pressed, vehement. “The moors beyond this greenland are depleted. The animals are <em>gone</em>. We’ve no where else to hunt.”</p><p>“You hunted them. That is why they are gone. You killed them all,” Yugi said, so grave, like Kaiba himself had committed a crime most heinous.</p><p>“No, no, there is no possible way. There is simply not enough of us to do so,” Kaiba said, shaking his head. “They have <em>left</em>, and we haven’t a clue why. It has been happening over the past several years.”</p><p>Yugi paused then, his hand stilling from where it had been carding through the stag’s mane. He fit one lip, thin but shapely and so <em>pink</em>, between his teeth. “How many years?”</p><p>“I do not know exactly when it started,” Kaiba admitted. “I noticed it… maybe three, four years ago.”</p><p>Yugi’s eyes lowered, his lashes, so long and dark, shuttering over those lurid irises. “And you cannot live without hunting?”</p><p>“Livestock is hard to maintain with the harsh winters, and the crops are not enough to sustain us. Trade all but dies during the winter, as well,” Kaiba trailed off, but his eyes could not leave the sight before him, like from a dream or a fairy tale, of this beautiful man and his wild, majestic friend. “After this winter… we are on our last threads. We will make it through the spring, summer, and autumn, but… this upcoming winter we may not be so lucky.” Kaiba sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Please, I cannot let my brother starve.”</p><p>And Yugi’s eyes met his again, all dappled from the sunlight. Posed in half shadow like this, one eye was in light and the other was not, and Yugi’s pupils were of two different diameters as they regarded Kaiba.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he began, slow and intense, empathetic. “But I’m afraid I cannot help you.”</p><p>Kaiba’s lips parted again, but Yugi shut his head.</p><p>“I made a promise to the creatures of this forest,” Yugi continued. “Here, they are under my protection. Here, they have a sanctuary, <em>away </em>from humans.”</p><p>“You talk to them? The animals?” Kaiba pressed, though he knew the answer.</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“And you <em>told</em> them this?”</p><p>Yugi nodded, solemn, looking every bit the Forest Prince he claimed himself to be. “I did.”</p><p>Kaiba sighed and held his head in his hands. He wanted to curse, to swear, to let a string of profanities tumble from his lips. But such a thing seemed blasphemous to do in front of a creature who seemed so divine.</p><p>While before the very idea seemed ludicrous, and perhaps it still did, it seemed all too real a possibility now…</p><p>“And could word of your… haven… spread?” Kaiba hissed, pressing his thumbs into his temples. “If these animals could communicate this to one another…?”</p><p>Yugi’s eyes lowered again. “They do, and it did,” came the quiet admission. “It is a probable explanation for the depletion of wildlife in your area.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The Latin in the title means "Lords of the Forest", and that is because, well, Prince Yugi is considered only a prince because there is, in fact, a King, who is much, much less lenient than his brother when it comes to human intruders to their forest. He comes into play later. I think you can all guess who the King is... His animal familiar is a puma. Neither the King nor the puma are too happy to awaken from a centuries long slumber to a human and the Prince entangled in a rather passionate embrace. You can imagine where this leads...</p><p>Again, I had no explicit plans on just where this story would go, just vague ideas. Ugh... my inability to plan or complete things just... kills me inside...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Nyctophobia... or Amaurophilia? (Dragonshipping)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rated E -- if I were to ever finish this</p><p>After watching a scary show all night, Jou's afraid of the dark... or is he...? Atem's taken it upon himself to find out.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This was planned to be straight up PWP, not gunna lie. I wanted more Dragonshipping PWP and if there is no content then I guess I will just have to write it myself. In this, Atem and Jou are in an established relationship and live together in an apartment. I intended for this to be a canon-divergent AU where Atem stays (as most of us wished it), so most of the canon stuff happened.</p><p>ANYWAYS, nyctophobia is the irrational fear of the dark, but amaurophilia is when someone is aroused by being unable to see their partner via artificial means, such as being blindfolded or by having sex in complete darkness. Amaurophilia is usually tied to feelings of inadequacy or religious guilt, but such is not the case in this scrap. </p><p>Well, I will tell you what I intended it to be at the end of the scrap...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Oh! Right there!” Atem exclaimed in a low, intense whisper, pointing towards the screen.</p><p>Jou gasped. “Ohmygod, where?!” He clutched the pillow closer to his chest. His heart was beating so fast that it made his sternum ache.</p><p>Atem paused the show and leaned in, their shoulders touching as he continued pointing. “Right of the staircase, right in the threshold. See that silhouette?”</p><p>“Oh god.” Jou buried his face in his pillow and groaned. He lifted his head back up to glare at Atem’s excited, mirthful grin. “I hate this show and I hate you.”</p><p>Atem laughed again, and the light of the television flickered off the whites of his eyes in the dark of their living room. “Oh, it’s not even the eeriest one. You can barely see anything!”</p><p>“That’s why it’s so spooky!” Jou’s vehement reply was muffled by the pillow in his face.</p><p>Atem snickered and leaned back again, and Jou frowned at him with just his eyes as Atem’s arm curled around his waist. “You’re cute.”</p><p>Jou pouted, and, later, when he actually <em>yelled</em> from one of the admittedly rather rare jump-scares, he didn’t resist the urge to hit Atem with the pillow when he laughed, low and deep and <em>attractive</em> and annoying.</p><p>“You’re an asshole!” Jou hissed, but leaned in when Atem dragged him close for a comforting cuddle.</p><p>A rumbling chuckle vibrated against Jou’s jaw – made the nerves on the back of his neck tingle – and then Atem’s lips, warm and soft, puckered gently against his throat. “I don’t know why you’re mad at me. I didn’t make the show.”</p><p>Jou’s frown deepened, even while his arms tucked Atem’s smaller frame closer against him of their own volition. “You know how I feel about these shows and you still wanted to watch it.”</p><p>Atem only hummed. His fingers slowly traced on Jou’s arm.</p><p>And though Jou complained sporadically throughout that episode and the one they watched after it, they both knew that Jou really didn’t mind.</p><p>At least, not until later, when Jou was already tucked under the covers and Atem was still getting ready for bed. <em>That</em> was when Jou really started to mind what they had watched that night.</p><p>Scrolling through the feeds on his socials could only do so much to distract him from his impending dread. Soon, Atem would turn off the lights and slip under the covers and they would be in the dark. They would be in the dark, and Jou wouldn’t be able to <em>see</em>, wouldn’t be able to see whatever would be there with them in the shadows of their bedroom.</p><p>He <em>knew</em>, rationally, that nothing would actually <em>be there</em>, but it was much harder to assuage the fears cultivated by the disturbing show Atem had begged to watch.</p><p><em>God</em>, this was why he <em>hated</em> ghost stories!</p><p>He wasn’t sure if Atem’s preferred sleeping environment made it worse or not; blackout curtains to keep the glow of the streetlamps out, not a single lick of light in the room, all of the doors closed. It made it absolutely impossible to see and very difficult to navigate, the reason why Atem was <em>always</em> the last one to bed, a rule they put in place after Jou nearly broke his toe stubbing it on the nightstand and after a broken belonging or two.</p><p>Yeah, impossible to see. Which was scary as fuck. <em>Anything</em> could be there and Jou wouldn’t even be able to see it. A figure could just stand there, watching him, and he’d never be any the wiser.</p><p>He shuddered to think about it and mindlessly scrolled past some memes Honda had posted.</p><p>But then there was the other option – just that little bit of light, not enough to see, but enough to make one <em>think</em> they could see. Arguably, it had the potential to be <em>worse</em> for his overactive imagination. Was that just the coats hanging in the closet? Or was it a shadowy figure, watching from the darkness?</p><p>Who the fuck knows?</p><p>It was awful either way.</p><p>He sighed, plugged in his phone, and set it on the nightstand.</p><p>Atem was lingering by the light switch, leaned right next to it, his arms crossed languidly across his chest. His head was tilted just so, and those wine-colored irises quietly regarded Jou where he was lying under the covers.</p><p>“What?” Jou croaked, though he knew that look, and he returned it. Atem had a slight but defined build, corded with wiry but powerful muscles, and Jou’s mouth watered. He liked the feel of that body under his hands, under his body, <em>over</em> his body. He liked the feel of that body touching him in any way possible.</p><p>Those half-lidded eyes met his solidly. Atem blinked slowly, and his smile was just as slow.</p><p>No, not a smile.</p><p><em>That</em> was a fucking <em>smirk</em>.</p><p>Jou’s next breath sawed into his lungs roughly.</p><p>Anyone could argue with him, but Jou would be lying if he said that that <em>smirk</em> wasn’t filled to the brim with <em>evil.</em></p><p>The lights were suddenly off, and the room was plunged into darkness.</p><p>“Atem!” Jou gasped. On reflex, his hand shot out to grab his phone from the nightstand, but it only fumbled uselessly, and he heard the muffled <em>thud</em> the device made when it fell to the carpet. “Dammit.” He flopped back onto the mattress. “Atem?” He tried to listen, but blood pounded in his ears, and his breath was picking up.</p><p>Somehow, Atem could always flawlessly navigate their room in the perfect blackness, and he walked lightly, so even if Jou <em>could</em> hear anything over the roaring of his heart, he wouldn’t.</p><p>He laid back. “Atem…”</p><p>There was no answer.</p><p>But then the covers shifted, catching and dragging down Jou’s body, slow, so slow, centimeter by centimeter.</p><p>“Atem!” Jou hissed, his fingers clenching into the blankets, and he fiercely tugged. “What the hell?!”</p><p>And that voice resonated, deep but susurrating, “Shhhhh...”</p><p>A shiver wracked Jou’s spine, and the momentary lapse caused the covers to slip from his fingers and continue down, slow, like a full-body caress, soft and tickling.</p><p>A chuckle, rolling and sonorous, and Jou’s skin prickled with goosebumps.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Jou tried to spit, but his breath was already short and his voice raw, and it totally ruined the affect.</p><p>Atem only hummed, that low sensual one he did that always made Jou’s nerves trill – because Jou <em>knew</em> that hum, what it meant.</p><p>Then he heard it, the faint whisper of skin on the bedspread, the subtle shift of the mattress and the cover sheet. In the dark, Atem’s hands slowly sought him out, and even though he knew it was coming, Jou still gasped when fingertips brushed against his bare calf. Just the very tips, the occasional slight scrape of nails, tracing down the plane of skin atop his tibia, down and to the side, playing against the sensitive skin on his ankle. Jou’s reflexes seized, and his leg kicked thoughtlessly.</p><p>“Shit, sorry,” he stuttered, fingers curling into the sheet, but Atem only chuckled, and Jou <em>swore</em> he could feel the hot breath on his skin.</p><p>Another sharp intake cut through Jou’s throat when those fingertips turned into whole fingers, a hot palm, sliding back up, so slow and sensual, up his calf, under his knee, and the other hand mirrored it.</p><p>Jou sighed, letting his head fall back and his knees fall open more as the mattress shifted – Atem must have finally climbed on, kneeling at the very foot of it.</p><p>Then the quiet was broken again – the hands hooked under his knees suddenly grasped Jou harshly and <em>yanked</em>, and Jou yelped.</p><p>Another chuckle, breathier this time, and Atem settled the backs of Jou’s thighs over the tops of his own, and then his hot hands were slowly smoothing down Jou’s legs, toward his pelvis, and the muscles jumped beneath his palms ever so slightly. Jou was panting now, heart racing for a different reason entirely, his fear long forgotten now that a coiling heat was starting to glow through his veins.</p><p>He reached out, grasped one wrist gently, but Atem twisted in his hold with all the ease of an expert martial artist, and Jou’s hand found itself pinned to the mattress.</p><p><em>Oh</em>, Atem was going to play like <em>that</em>.</p><p>There were times when Atem wanted to be tossed around, when he wanted Jou to <em>consume</em> and <em>dominate</em> him, when he wanted his hair pulled and his body pinned, at Jou’s mercy. There were times when Atem wanted to be held close and rocked gently with tender thrusts, when he wanted sweet nothings or just breathing each other’s names. Then there were times when Atem wanted to gently press Jou to the mattress, to coil over his back and press kisses to his ear and the back of his neck as they swayed, over and over, enough to make Jou’s brain melt and gush out through his ears.</p><p><em>Then</em>, there were times when Atem wanted to be the one pinning and holding and yanking and tossing, wanted to wreck Jou five ways to Sunday and make him cry and pant.</p><p>Jou didn’t mind how they did it – no matter what positions they were in, no matter who was the one wrecking who, it was always so breathtakingly <em>good</em>.</p><p>So Jou could only pant eagerly at this new development, and then it turned into a pleased hum when Atem’s other hand migrated from his clothed hip to the hem of Jou’s t-shirt, and it was wriggling under the material. At the hot touch of that palm on his stomach, Jou gasped and arched.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>OKAY, what I intended -- it ends up being like a kind of roleplay, I guess, like Atem is a 'ghost' or just a stranger whose face Jou cannot see. It wasn't really turning out that way and I lost my spark. But I hope you guys liked it, anyway... though I know not many people are Dragonshippers. </p><p>(PS: Switch!Atem is my shit, and, also, the show they were watching was The Haunting of Hill House)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Tell the Truth (Prideshipping, Fem!Seto)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rated E (Maybe, idk) -- proposed rating if I ever finish this.</p><p>Kaiba Seto has unfinished business with Atem, former Spirit of the Puzzle, and if that means she has to rip through the fabric of time and space to confront him, then so be it.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I've read that a Prideshipping author gets one (1) post-DSOD story and this would be my cashing in that check. While this is technically the prequel for my Flareshipping series "Say You Will," I intend it to also stand alone if that is not one's cup of tea. </p><p>Honestly, most of this was written in a haze well after what should have been my bedtime, so it may not rank the highest in quality, but I figured I would throw it out here anyways.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She stood there in awe. All the work, all that she had been through to get there, all she had experienced. She had torn asunder the very fabric of time and space to get to him, and there he was.</p><p>The harsh sunlight glinted off dripping gold and that wild hair and fine linen as he stood from his grand throne. He was wreathed in it, in gleaming white rays and flashing gold like a mirage in the desert. Crimson caught the sunlight like a stained mirror, and that red was so brilliant when it was purely Atem’s, when he stood there at home in his own body, lean and taut beneath that pristine linen.</p><p>Lips, once affixed in the solemn majesty of kingliness, parted. “Kaiba,” and it rippled like through thick water, like through a dream.</p><p>But this was no dream.</p><p>Kaiba was here. Atem was here.</p><p>And that ferocity, the ferocity that only <em>he</em> could summon, rose within her, now remembered, its wings unfurled and its head back and its jaws parted, and she strode in, coat flaring wide.</p><p>“Atem,” she replied, proud and booming, though that name still tasted so foreign on her tongue when she had called him by the wrong one for so many years. “You and I… we have unfinished business.”</p><p>When her Duel Disk thrummed with its electronic light, the shock dropped away from his face, lit so richly by the sunlight pouring into the throne room, or perhaps that shock is hidden, and instead his expression firms, hardens, even as his lips were tilting into that confident smirk that had been playing like a projection on the back of her eyelids for what felt like forever.</p><p>“You spat in the face of the gods just to challenge me to a Duel, Kaiba?” His voice rolled like distant thunder as he descended the brilliantly white limestone steps. His endless gold adornments glinted with each movement. “Or did you literally die to do it?”</p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous,” she spat, shifting, tossing her hair, noticing those keen eyes tracing the movement, and she tried not to be moved by the sheer <em>glory</em> he exuded, at home in his skin and his palace in a way she had never seen before. “I heed the thought of no gods, and I am far too competent to die in this endeavor.”</p><p>“I should have known you would never let me be in peace,” Atem said, though something lingered in his voice, something she so desperately wanted to analyze, but that violent something in her bared its fangs and snapped its jaws, and her next words ripped from her chest, unbidden,</p><p>“If I get no <em>peace</em>, then you won’t either,” she hissed, sizzling on her tongue like the bitter taste rolling against her teeth.</p><p>His eyes darkened then, crimson becoming like aged wine, potent and volatile and hurt. “Is winning so much to you? Was it truly worth life and limb for you to reach me, to defeat me, to beat me to the dust like you’ve wanted for so long?”</p><p>“This isn’t just about winning,” she replied, vehement. She wanted to breathe fury from her throat at his words, like he was <em>dismissing</em> this, this churning hungry <em>thing</em> that always stewed between them, that always caught at her with its jagged claws and threatened to pull her under, to drown her in fire.</p><p>“What else is it about for you, Kaiba?” The question burned, burned like the unrelenting inferno of his eyes, like the solemnly fierce expression set upon his face.</p><p>She reeled, as if physically scalded, and her lips worked around her sneer. “Enough talk! I came here to Duel you,” she barked.</p><p>But it seemed as though he didn’t hear those words, or perhaps he did but ignored them perfectly, but, either way, it was as if they bounced off, away, into the shadows of the pillars surrounding them to be left and forgotten. “You came here to prove yourself.” The statement sounded like a demand with the vehement way it burst from his lips. “You need not prove yourself to me, Kaiba.”</p><p>Suddenly, it felt as though she were breathing nothing but that hot, dense desert air, dry and crackling in her lungs. That spark ignited all the fuel in her, all the bitter feelings that had been fermenting and marinating and <em>festering</em> inside her – they lit like a forest of dry tinder and the flames poured up and out as she shouted, “I <em>do</em>, dammit! I <em>do</em> and you know it!”</p><p>He took a step back at her force, the blistering gale he had unleashed within her, and she advanced another step.</p><p>“I <em>always </em>have to prove myself to you! I have to prove <em>this</em> to you, because if I didn’t –” She seethed a moment, chest heaving, her next words thundering up the back of her tongue, a pack of baying hounds. “If I didn’t, you would have <em>stayed</em>!” came the raw cry, wrenching from her.</p><p>He gasped then, expression breaking, but she hardly noticed, because once those dogs were loosed there was no reining them back in. Pandora’s box was opened, and there was hell to pay.</p><p>“You were always so stuck on the fucking past you never saw what was right in front of you!” she raged, and his face loomed closer and closer as she unknowingly took furious steps toward him. “You want to fucking talk to me like you can’t fucking <em>notice</em> it, like you can’t <em>feel it</em> like I can!” She bared her teeth with her grimace, with the way she fought down that tenseness in her throat, as her eyes burned and stung. “And maybe you don’t!” She stabbed a finger at him, and it pressed to his chest, right there in the angle created by the necklace that bore the Puzzle, and she hoped he felt the sharpness of her nail, hoped that it cut him, that it wounded him like she was wounded. “<em>Because you left me!</em>”</p><p>Her hand clenched into a fist and it was already happening before she knew it – she thumped her fist against his sternum, and he stood there and took it, stared at her, and she realized she couldn’t see, that he was blurry and her cheeks were wet and hot. “You just walked away and you didn’t even say anything to me!” Another thump, and she tasted salt on her lips. “I have to <em>prove</em> it, then, don’t I?” Thump. “I may not be worthy of a goodbye but I’m worthy of <em>something</em>, dammit!” And she pulled her fist back to strike him again, but then his hands, so warm and strong, wrapped around her wrists. She thrashed in his hold, but she was weakening, weakening until they finally slipped free from the tight vice of her throat – sobs, wracking, heaving sobs that made her ribs ache and her throat sore.</p><p>“Kaiba,” he called. His voice was thick and low, and she shook her head, felt pieces of her hair cling to her cheeks, and she tried again to wrench herself from his grasp.</p><p>“You just left!” she sobbed, still fiery through her tears. “You just left us all behind. You left me.” Trying to tug wasn’t working, so she tried to shove instead, her hands slipping over linen and cords and gold and the hot, firm torso under it all. But Atem remained firm. He always remained firm, even when she was so obviously in pieces. “You <em>fucker</em>,” she choked wetly. “You complete <em>bastard</em>.”</p><p>She’d always thought that he didn’t belong here. That he belonged <em>there</em>, across from her as an opponent, by her side as a partner. When she had trudged through life not feeling much of anything at all, he was there to brew a storm under her skin that electrified her, left her hungry for more, striving to be better.</p><p>The world wasn’t the same without him in it.</p><p>So she thought she would hunt him down and Duel him and win and get some fucking closure for once, but things obviously weren’t going as planned.</p><p>“Kaiba,” he said, low and urgent, shaking her lightly to break through the sounds of her despair. She suddenly realized the extent of her breakdown, and since she couldn’t pull away, she snapped her head to the side, tilted her chin down to let her long hair fall over her face. He tugged her close, as close as he could with the Duel Disk between them, and her fingers reflexively curled into the linen on his chest with a white-knuckled grip.</p><p>He tugged her again, perhaps in a bid to get her to look at him again, but she only panted wetly, raggedly, into the hair curtaining her face.</p><p>“Kaiba,” and his voice was closer, and she tried to curl away, to no avail. “Do you think I have been here, unfeeling, untouched by my losses?” he growled passionately, though from anger or something else, she did not know. “Do you think I have not ached for those I had to leave behind? Do you think I do not ache for my dear friends, for <em>you</em>?”</p><p>She choked back another sob. “Y-You shouldn’t have left.”</p><p> A building rumble in his chest, a rumble that she could feel vibrating against her knuckles, and it made her nerves trill. She tried to yank herself free again, but he held fast, his fingers hot brands around the backs of her hands. He was practically holding her fists to his body now. “Do you think I had a choice?” he hissed.</p><p>“There’s always a choice,” breathless now, raw from her tears.</p><p>“My choices were the afterlife or staying trapped in this Puzzle for all eternity. Either way I would eventually lose you all,” he asserted, vehement. “I had stolen enough of Yugi’s life from him, and I did not plan on taking any more. It was not fair to him. He deserves to live his own life, to be his own person, separate from me.”</p><p>“None of this is fair. Nothing is ever fair,” she whispered, because she knew that if she got any louder, her voice would break again.</p><p>“No.” His voice softened. “No, it isn’t.” One of his hands released her, but then it was sifting through her hair to palm at her cheek, tacky with tears. She wanted to recoil, and she wanted to lean closer, but she ended up stuck in the middle, remaining there as he continued to gently brush the hair away from her face. “Kaiba,” he said softly, the pad of his thumb tickling her lashes. “Look at me.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Then I was like "WTF he supposed to say? IDK I'm tired." I wake up, get ready for the day, and eventually return to this with no recollection of what exactly I meant for Atem to say to her. Wonderful, wonderful. I set it aside hoping to someday have insomnia-induced inspiration hit me again, but this just ended up getting buried in my files instead. </p><p>Ahhhhh I should really keep a notepad around to jot this shit down. </p><p>(Also, to explain why Kaiba is so very emotionally volatile in this scene -- she and Atem were dancing around each other for years, to the point where even her emotionally constipated ass realized that she wanted something more from him. AND THEN HE DIED. Throw in some abandonment issues and we've got a ticking time bomb on our hands [aka, Kaiba Seto]) (Also also, I know that in the last scene of DSOD, the throne room is filled with guards who would probably impale Kaiba before letting her approach their Pharaoh, much less jab her fingers at him and pound her fist on his chest but let's pretend they don't exist. Thank you)</p><p>Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. The Complicated Side of Dimensions (Prideshipping...?)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Unknown rating</p><p>One problem with tearing through the fabric of time and space is the difficulty of pinpointing exactly where the tear ends up on the other side. Because in the world on the other side, Atem has no recollection of Kaiba Seto. And why the fuck is he riding an Allosaurus?!</p><p>In other words, Kaiba Seto says "Fuck you" to astrophysics and astrophysics says "No, fuck YOU." AKA, the Land of the Lost fusion no one asked for.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay, so you know how in the previous chapter I said that Prideshipping authors get one (1) post-DSOD fic? Well, I have a couple of things to say about that. 1) I found a loophole. 2) Fuck the rules, I write what I want.</p><p>The loophole: this isn't <em>techinically</em> post-DSOD, because the last scene where Kaiba makes it to the afterlife to confront Atem never happens. Instead, Kaiba gets launched facefirst into what is essentially a time-space drag net. Because I really want to rub his nose in the consequences of fucking with the time-space continuum. </p><p>How I explain this? Well, it's the purest form of AU ever -- alternate universes converging on one space and time.</p><p>(Let's be honest, this was just an excuse for me to simultaneously be a YGO nerd and a science nerd)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shaking, enough to make his teeth rattle together and for the machinery around him to feel like it was about to fly apart at any moment.</p><p>It wasn’t supposed to be like this.</p><p>The force was crushing – so many more times the force of Earth’s gravity, his clothing was supposed to help him, but he could feel the pressure building in his body.</p><p>It was supposed to work before it reached this point.</p><p>His head rolled back, and he couldn’t even hear the weak groan crawling through his gritted teeth as black flames raged at the edges of his vision, as they closed in, threatening to swallow him whole.</p><p>He should already be there by now.</p><p>Stars and the blue aura of Earth’s atmosphere screamed by, but he was no longer conscious to see it.</p><p>Before the deceleration mechanisms could initiate, the capsule was already gone.</p><p>Kaiba Seto disappeared without a trace.</p><hr/><p>Jarring, head whipping to one side, pressure and pain mushrooming in his ribs like a bomb going off in his nerves. Diaphragm shoved with the force of each impact, his breath left his body in tight rushes.</p><p>What a fucking way to come back to consciousness.</p><p>Metal screeching, spinning – god why wouldn’t he stop <em>spinning</em> – and some distant part of him realized that the hot grit rasping against him periodically was sand. The capsule rocked to a stop, and Kaiba slumped back against his seat. A sharp pain accompanied each breath, and some shaky prodding and probing revealed that he did not, in fact, have any broken ribs, which was a relief.</p><p>He blinked out his surroundings, visible through the torn metal plating of the front of the capsule.</p><p>Blue, blue sky – endless and cloudless, like a long sheet of untouched silk – and yellow dunes rising in crests as far as the eyes could see.</p><p>He’d… made it.</p><p>Of course he made it!</p><p>… But this still wasn’t right. It wasn’t what he calculated. What he planned. Already he could tell that something got fucked up.</p><p>The capsule… hell, <em>him.</em></p><p>This method was only to transport his <em>consciousness</em> to another dimension.</p><p>And yet, here he was, in the aching, sweaty flesh.</p><p>“Fuck.” The groan was long and low and sparked another pain in his side that he grasp with a sweaty hand. It was hot. Uncomfortably so. And if one did not plan adequately, <em>lethally so.</em></p><p>Which made sense if he was indeed transported to ancient Egypt. The Sahara was one of the hottest deserts in the world.</p><p>“Fuck,” he repeated. The simple syllable weighed on his tongue like lead. A few deep breaths – or as deep as he could manage with what was probably serious bruising on his side – managed to regulate his heart level, and, with it, his mental clarity.</p><p>First steps first. He had to get out of this damn capsule.</p><p>The controls before him were dim, dead. The impact(s) knocked the power offline. He couldn’t use the electronic release mechanism.</p><p>Which was fine. There were several manual methods to crack it open, both from inside and outside. And, if push came to shove, he could probably manage to weasel his way through the torn section, though that was not the most optimal route.</p><p>His sweat-slicked fingertips fumbled at the buckle keeping him attached to the seat (good thing he installed one in the first place, or he would have been a bloody, broken smear on the hot sands). It took several tries, but the fastenings came away with a <em>click.</em> The metal on the right side dented in awkwardly, which took some rather uncomfortable contorting to get around, but his searching hand found the lever. The right-side hatch <em>popped</em> off, falling with a thud and a hiss into the sand below.</p><p>That wasn’t good. The mechanisms keeping that hatch secured had broken, and the only thing keeping it in place was the lever.</p><p>Whatever. That was a problem for Future Kaiba Seto.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>He gets out of the capsule and sees a jungle in the distance which is NOT supposed to be there. Soon after leaving the capsule to find a place to take shelter from the sun, he finds himself surrounded by giant carnivorous ungulates (hooved predators that look like giant, weirdly proportioned wolves but are actually more closely related to horses than canids) that are SUPPOSED TO BE extinct. Well fuck. He traveled to the WRONG TIME. But then an Allosaurus storms through -- which was NOT contemporary with carnivorous ungulates -- and it chases off his attackers. There's a man riding it. The man puts down his visor. It's Atem, but he does not recognize Kaiba. Kaiba realizes that he is essentially in a time-space sinkhole that sucks in any who are unfortunate enough to cross its path when traversing time and space (This Atem was brought here when he tried to sacrifice himself to seal Zorc away and it failed). There are other people here, too, and they have come to call themselves "The Stranded." ("How original" Kaiba snarks at some point) Kaiba tries to figure a way back with the help of alternate timeline Atem. </p><p>Why this is labeled as "Prideshipping...?": 1) I was not sure if I actually wanted this to have a ship and 2) I don't know if it is technically the Prideship that we know and love if this Atem is from a timeline where he never got to meet Kaiba.</p><p>I can't lie. This is crack treated very, very seriously and I love this idea. </p><p>(I am very tempted to turn this shippy, and to also have Alternate Timeline Atem come with Kaiba when he returns [Atem's own timeline cannot be returned to, since the world ended. Oopsy]. Everybody gets all like "OMG you're BACK" and Kaiba's like "This is not the Atem you're looking for lol")</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Author-Reader Discourse (an author's note)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hey, you guys.</p><p>I don't like posting an entire chapter dedicated to an author's note, but I figured I would make an exception for this scrap yard. Those of you who regularly follow my works may have noticed (or read about) the rut I've been in lately. Well, I'm hoping I have plans to change that. In fact, I have plans to finish 6 of my WIPs in the coming months (though I will not start posting for my current multi-chapter WIPs until I have finished the story so that I can just get them off the table). To treat myself, I want to start something fresh when those are done. </p><p>I, personally, get burnt out when hammering away at the same old stuff, hence wanting to start a new WIP. Obviously, I often get carried away with this (this collection is a grim testament to that). </p><p>Okay, I'm mostly rambling at this point, but I want to really discuss some stuff with you guys, especially the readers who oft read my work (or even the ones who have only read bits and pieces from this.</p><p>My questions are these:</p><p>1)<strong> If you had to pick any one of the scraps in here for me to continue, which would you want to see completed the most?</strong></p><p>2) <strong>If not one of these, what is something you would love to see me write?</strong> With this second question, it is not my intention to sound narcissistic. I don't mean to sound like I'm grabbing for your story ideas, lol, that is not my intention at all. I've just had readers tell me "I would love it if you wrote something for this pairing: it doesn't get much traffic" or whatnot. </p><p>I know they tell writers to write for themselves, but you, my dearest readers, are so supportive of all my crazy ass fucking ideas, and I really wanna honor you guys for that. I don't think I would have written as much as I have (over 500,000 words) without you guys. </p><p>Anyways, If you want to yell at me about something you would like to see completed in the next year, just drop down in the comment section and yell at me :) You can also contact me on my tumblr account or through my fanfic gmail, mightnight.munchies19@gmail.com. (It was supposed to be "midnight" but alas it twas another insomnia-fueled endeavor, guaranteeing the presence of a typo.</p><p>That being said, this is also one so this probably makes no sense and I will come back to read this tomorrow morning and facepalm hard enough to leave marks. </p><p>Talk to me, or not, I get it. We're all busy people with busy lives. Either way, thank you for reading &lt;3</p>
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